


In The Arms Of Jensen (A Cockles/JenMish FF)

by MarvelSupernatural



Series: In The Arms Of Jensen [1]
Category: Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Angst, Cockles, Emotional Buildup, F/M, Fluff, Humor, I’m really bad at tagging, Jenmish, Kissing, Love, M/M, RPF, Smut, Their wives don’t know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-04-27 06:24:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 22,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14419503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarvelSupernatural/pseuds/MarvelSupernatural
Summary: It all started with one missing briefs. Specifically, Misha’s lucky orange briefs. On the chase to save his reputation and embarrassment, Misha finds himself confronted with a troubling ordeal which involves recounting his past feelings. Jensen, on the other hand, seems determined to make Misha open his eyes and see the world, his world, in Jensen’s eyes. Through heartbreak and tears, laughs and smiles, will Misha find his lucky briefs and seek happiness or will his heart be broken once more?





	1. Down We Go

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first story involving real person shipping. So bear with me, here. Also, sorry for errors in my writing, I did it rushed. Hopefully you enjoyed and left a comment down below. :) Happy Readings!

The start of that Tuesday morning bloomed with early colors of pink and sky blue, resonating the brightly growing orange sun soon to be at half-mast in four hours. The birds were rising from their slumber in their nests up in the multitudes of green trees, calling to one another in a desperate attempt to socialize and irritate the sleeping world. The skies above were a tint cloudy and dark, giving off a fresh and natural musk that smelled of morning, dewy grass and stale dirt. Nonetheless, everything was natural.

Until a certain blue-eyed actor woke up to find his lucky boxers missing from the stack of fresh and clean clothes he sent for washing yesterday.

Misha had to postpone his early ritual of jogging at roughly six in the morning — something he _rarely_ had to do, in fact, almost _never_ had to — to find his only pair of good luck charm. He didn't understand how he could've lost it! He had compiled a baggage of dirty laundry to be washed, including his favorite orange briefs, and handed them to Tom, the guy who worked in the Wardrobe Department.

Those briefs meant everything to Misha. It was his anchor, his hopes and his relaxant to his constant paranoid phase. At least, he thought it was. Those brightly colored neon orange briefs were just lucky. Misha didn't know why they were what they were, but he knew he couldn't lose it or his luck will start turning sideways.

Now, sifting hurriedly through the stacks of clothing he placed on the little brown dining table he had in his trailer, Misha felt a trickling fear settle deep in his stomach as his mind wrapped around the idea of someone from the cast stumbling upon his orange briefs in their freshly-washed stack of laundry.

He could almost imagine the humiliation he'd endure, not to mention the endless torture Jared and Jensen would impose on him once news starts to circulate that the orange briefs were, in fact, his to begin with. Misha shivered at the afterthought, sliding his hands down his face as he resolved to a solution: to ask Tom himself.

Misha grabbed his trailer keys and shuffled out of his trailer, locking it behind him. The summer air brushed through every strand in his hair as he jogged to Wardrobe, the warm rays flushing his face a tint of pink as he arrived upon the grey-white trailer.

Misha had a set goal in mind: politely ask Tom where his missing clothing is, track it down, and hopefully by the end of the day, he'd have his charm by his side once again. However, Tom had no clue as to how the mishap had occurred when he was confronted with Misha's question.

"It must've fallen into one of the other piles of laundry."

Misha could only gawk at the man, his heart racing faster by the minute at the revelation that maybe the harassment he'll receive after someone reveals his briefs would surely make him go insane enough to dig a hole and bury away his whole life. Running both hands through his dark brown tousled hair, Misha exhales a sharp breath, blinking those brightly colored blue orbs of his.

Tom had never seen a person stress so much over a piece of clothing, he instantly felt guilty for letting the actor down. He found the situation quite hilarious and exciting as well, knowing full well how the cast and crew relish in pranks and endless teasing on one another. Tom never took an interest in pranking on set, but it was immediately known that Misha was the standing whipping post for all pranks created. Although the burden was slightly lifted when actor, Alexander Calvert, joined the family.

 _Poor_ _Misha_ , Tom thought guiltily.

"Okay," Misha found himself uttering, nodding his head absently. He let out a semi-enthusiastic sigh and glanced around briefly at the clutter of clothes hung on metal rods around the room before forcing a strained smile towards Tom. "It'll be found when it wants to be found, I suppose."

"If I hear of it, I'll inform you. Sorry, man."

Misha left wardrobe with nothing in hand. He would've asked who might the other laundry baskets belonged to, but that would be pointless. The Wardrobe Department washes tons of baskets of laundry and to ask them to keep track of them is not exactly appealing and reasonable.

Misha rubs his weary face with his hands, gently at first before he started applying pressure to the outline of his forehead with the tips of his fingers.

"This is not happening to me," he groans quietly under his hands, "why is it always me?"

"Why is what always you?"

Misha jumps ten feet in the air, his heart palpating restlessly against his rib cage as he sucks in endless amount of the warm, summer air. Standing in front of him was a curious-looking trickster of a man who bore a wide smile on his face as he peers up at Misha with that dark brown eyes of his that seemed to glow lighter as the rays of the growing sun hit his chocolate orbs.

" _Jesus_ , Richard," Misha exhales quickly, clutching his chest as if to save his pulsing beating heart from jumping out of its place. "You scared the _shit_ out of me."

Richard throws his head back and laughs a throaty laugh, shaking his head as he regains his previous posture. This time, his smile started to dissipate into a smirk, a fond trait of the character Richard played on Supernatural.

"I came by to tell you that I found your orange briefs and I sent them to your trailer," Richard couldn't help but laugh as he said so, the corners of his eyes crinkling with true laughter. "I can only _imagine_ the paranoia going through your veins when you realize you lost them!"

Misha felt a flush of relief flow through every joint in his body. Suddenly the world around him didn't seem so cruel and so intent on dumbing his luck. Thankfully, Richard found them. The mishap had happened before and they ended up in Richard's possession, which fortunately, Misha managed to convince him to keep it on the down low as he frantically stood there in Richard's trailer while the latter convulsed with laughter before regaining his posture and finally agreeing with the man.

"You are _such_ an asshole," Misha rolls his eyes playfully at the man, a small smile creeping it's way onto his slightly tan face despite Richard's comment. "I'll keep your comment in mind when I seek out a Christmas gift for you."

" _Aww_ , you were going to buy me a gift, _Mish-y_?" Richard dons his best childish accent and places his hands on his chest where his heart would be, a sentimental look on his face. "That is _very_ sweet of you, babe."

"Now that you _mention_ it..." Misha trails off playfully, clicking his tongue at the end of his phrase, his face contorted with a grin. "I _might_ just abort you from my list for, _hmm_ , let's see, being quite an _annoying_ , _pestering_ —"

"Amazingly talented, drop-dick gorgeous of a human being," Richard rolls his eyes, flashing Misha a cocky smirk, "Oh, _Misha!_ You sure do know how to make a man blush!"

Before Misha can retort to Richard's comment with a snarky and joking remark about Richard's lack of appeal to both populations, a flustered PA proceeds to drive in between them, stealing Richard away as he was due on set in a few minutes.

Misha sticks his hands in his pockets, glancing after the man as he starts to disappear around the row of trailers donning one side of the road. A content sigh lifts off his lips as he smiles down at his shoes distantly, soft, warm wind tousling his smooth, dark brown hair.

A few moments of staring off into space, Misha manages to find his way back to the road leading to his trailer. Trailers of mostly the same size stretches out on either side of him, a wide gap made in between for the cars of the cast and crew and other important equipments needed to be brought in. Since it was the start of a brand new filming day, not many members of the crew were hustling about. Shooting an actual scene depends on the longevity of it, and usually happens in sporadic moments in the mid-morning to late-afternoon. However, on special occasions, such as performing stunts and preparing for a scene, the call time is usually much earlier. _Probably why Richard was needed so early..._

A couple PAs wave their hands in greeting as Misha smiles past them. He walks on forward, just a couple feet away from his trailer now and thought, _this day might as well be my lucky day_.

As soon as he reaches his trailer, Misha sticks his hands inside his pockets, fishing for his trailer keys. Humming an old tune softly, he steadies the key in his hands as he began to walk up the 3-step stairs leading to his door, eyeing his door with giddy content.

Inserting his key, Misha opens his door and attempts to step inside without any casualties.

It happened so quick. One moment, Misha was unlocking his door and the next, his right foot tried an attempt forward but was withheld from doing so, lurching the stumbling man to propel deeper into his trailer before he heads for the floor in a loud crash.

By some sheer luck, his trailer door had swung shut in the events of his violent feud with his shoes and the floor. Misha let out a breathy groan as he flips himself over, biting his tongue as the stinging sensation of his elbows reign through his body. _There'll be a bruise there, for sure._

" _Really?_ " Misha glances down at his untied shoelaces, bringing up his knees so he could burrow his head in them. "A 43 year-old man can't even walk inside his trailer without tripping over his shoelaces. How _pathetic_ is that?"

Shoving all pain aside, Misha stumbles to get up, gaining support from his kitchen counters as he straightens himself out, mind the irony.

With a slow glance around his trailer first, Misha had to double-check the second time. All things were as they seem when he left a half-hour ago, nothing out of place and also nothing new.

 _My briefs aren't here. So where the_ hell _is it?_

With slightly frantic eyes and panicked bursts of breath, Misha starts for the door in a hurry.

Only to be met with the floor _again_. In his state of utter realization, Misha forgot he hadn't tied his shoelaces and immediately cursed to himself. _As if his elbows hadn't suffered enough_.

"I'm a 43 year-old man who forgot to tie his shoes," Misha self-deprecates himself, laughing shamefully under his breath as his fingers worked on his shoes. "My kids would _never_ let me live this down."

 _Finally_ , he starts, _again_ , for the door, this time with no casualties. His hunt for his orange briefs was just the start of an end; an end which will either result in eternal faith and broken hearts or true love and suffering.


	2. From The Ground Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eek! Sorry for the extremely late update. I was extremely busy. Anywho, happy readings! Hopefully an update will be here soon. :)

"Dean, I—"

" _No_ , Cas. I am not letting _you_ or anyone sacrifice themselves for me, alright? We'll find a better way. Like we always do."

" _Dean_. How many more will have to _die_ until we find a better way? _I_ can do this. I need _you_ to trust me."

A scoff slips from Jensen's lips, a hand sliding up to rub his mouth, a notable quirk of Jensen's character, Dean Winchester.

They were currently filming in the kitchen of the bunker with Jensen, or Dean, leaning over one side of the metal island and Misha standing just a few feet to the left of the island, arms resting comfortably still against the tan and silky trench coat.

"You don't think I do? Geez, Cas. What part of _suicide_ don't you get?"

Dean places both his arms on the metal slab, leaning forward as he accentuates his line. His green orbs meets cobalt blue ones with an emotion that seemed so close to breaking. His voice lowers to a whisper, as if the words might slice the world in half by the sheer atrocity of it:

"I can't _afford_ to lose you. Not again."

Silence fills the space between them. Castiel's face breaks a little at Dean's sentimental statement but he hinders it away by breaking his eye connection with the man to stare at the floor then to the kitchen walls, regaining his posture as an monotonous angel void of emotions.

" _Cut!_ "

A flurry of movements happen in a split second. Misha is suddenly ushered off the set, the crew quickly stepping in to remodel the entire prop to turn it into a whole different set. Misha felt his nerves return once again.

After an endless day of hide and seek with his orange briefs yesterday, Misha concludes that he sucked at the game. He spent hours jogging around set, asking a few crew members who had a hand in the laundry department if they'd crossed over a pair of orange briefs. But to no avail. Misha did seek out Richard at one point, but the only answer Richard gave to him was a simple shrug and simply replied that he entrusted a new assistant on set to pass the briefs along. So Misha gave up, feeling hopeless and paranoid at the same time. At least his daily jog helped calm him a little this morning. Not to mention that his elbows were hurting like hell from his epic fall yesterday.

"Hey! Mish!"

The familiarity of that deep voice sent Misha shivering with chills down his spine. A heavy arm slings itself around his shoulders and pulls him in for a brief side hug. Misha turns his head, acknowledging those beautiful emerald orbs centered around the crinkles of his eyes that accompanied his big, goofy grin.

Misha couldn't help but smile at the man. His damn goofy grin was always infectious. You couldn't help but smile, even if you had no idea who he was. Misha felt his nerves calm just a tad bit as his eyes melts into the green hue of his orbs. The orbs that he’d grown to adore for 8 years now, that had greeted him first all those years back the first time he was on the _Supernatural_ set. He enjoys moments like these, even if they were half a second look long, it was enough to make Misha feel giddy inside.

"Hey there, big guy. What's up?"

Misha could only picture the grin grow wider on Jensen’s face even if he wasn’t looking towards his direction. _That damn grin_. He resists the urge to turn his head and ogle at Jensen’s face, which was a damn task itself.

“Oh, nothing much. Been _too_ long since I’ve seen you, Mish. Just wanted to catch up. Like old times.”

Misha throws his head back and laughs, ignoring the chills that vibrates down his spine as his head made contact with Jensen’s arm that was around his shoulders. The corners of his eyes wrinkles up with pure joy and he couldn’t help but show his teeth as he smiles wide.

“It’s only been _two_ days, Jensen. I think the proper connotation for _‘too long’_ would be _years_ ,” Misha corrects him, a playful glint lacing his voice. “You’re not easy to get rid of, anyway. You and Padalecki are lik—“

“Gnats in your head, driving you crazy?” Jensen intervenes, a head thrown backwards with unicorn laughter spilling from his pink lips as he quotes one of Misha’s lines from _The Big Empty_.

They were walking out of the warehouse, although it seemed as if it would take years to reach the exit. Misha didn’t have a problem with that. Jensen’s arm around his shoulders, pulling him in close as if he were afraid of letting him go, his big goofy grin that held a beautiful, loud laughter that drove Misha to the edge, and those _damn_ beautiful green pools of his that reminded Misha of a peaceful forest rooted deep within the Amazon; those forests that held secrets, smiles, and promises. He wanted to swim in those eyes of his for as long as he could, drowning slowly into the green oblivion, fading away from the Earth in bliss.

“Mr. Ackles!”

Misha pulls himself back to reality, snapping quickly out of his thoughts. His cheeks went flush for a second before he wills them away, playing it off professionally as if he hadn’t thought of Jensen just a second ago. Immediately, the warmth that protected Misha was gone, leaving him cold and lonely. Jensen had retracted his arm almost impulsively as a PA approaches them with a clipboard and headset ready.

“Phil needs you on Stage 5 ASAP.”

Jensen glances between Misha and the PA, opening his mouth to most likely, protest for a few minutes longer to spend with the man, but Misha beat him to it, waving his hand towards Jensen.

“Don’t hold the man up, Jen. I’ll be fine. It was nice catching up though.”

_Even if it was only for a few minutes._

Jensen shoots Misha an apologetic look, contemplating whether or not he should go. “I-I’ll make it up to you, Mish. _Promise._ ”

“Damn right you will, Ackles,” Misha chuckles, a part of him wishes Jensen would’ve stayed, but knowing Phil, he didn’t like to be kept waiting.

Once Jensen had left, Misha turns around to the awkward PA standing just a few feet away. When he beckons for her, she let out a squeak, face flushed as if she did something wrong.

“Y-Yes, Mr. C-Collins?” she stutters nervously, gripping her clipboard until her fingers went pale white against the peach hue of her skin.

In any other circumstances, Misha would’ve gently smiled and eased the nerves of this poor girl standing in front of him. But, considering that Jensen had, _unfortunately_ , left and his briefs were _still_ missing, Misha didn’t feel so generous today. Actually, he was now a tad bit grumpy. _If only Jensen would’ve stayed._

“You haven’t had a chance to have seen a pair of orange boxers, would you?”

“O-Orange boxers?”

“Yes,” Misha replies, a tad bit irritated and paranoid. “They’re neon, with a black band? Seen it around recently?”

“I don’t think I-I have,” the girl squawks, looking around as if she’d rather be anywhere but in front of him. “I’m sorry?”

Misha sighs, running both hands down his face. Where could his briefs possibly be? “No, it’s not your fault. Don’t be sorry. Thank you for help...”

Misha squints down at the name tag she had on her upper right chest.

“ _Samantha_.”

He offers her a genuine smile, hoping that that would make her forgive him for being an asshole. He found that his smiles often worked. Partially because it was truthful and passionate, but mostly because that’s just _who_ he was. Light and cheery, adventurous and brave, there’s little that could bring Misha’s day down. Well, except for maybe a situation like this. But he’ll handle it. He always has. He fended himself off by himself. He supported his family when they didn’t have much to begin with. He was born poor but that didn’t stop him from accomplishing his dreams. He didn’t let his situation drag him down. Instead, he used it to battle against his weakness. Look where that got him now.

He’s a series regular on _Supernatural_. He managed to grow organizations from scratch. He even had his Worldwide Scavenger Hunt, Gish, win a title in the Guinness World Record! He had built lifelong friendships with the cast members from the show. He’d made a name for himself. He was financially stable than he was before. He had married his high school sweetheart, Vicki, and had two adorable little kids whom he proudly called his family. Misha wasn’t born into this life, no, he built himself a new, better one that held his whole life in it. He loves his wife, Vicki, and their two kids, West and Maison, but he couldn’t help but feel something was missing.

A sense of longing that belongs to someone else. Misha swipes away his thoughts, reliving reality again. The PA he’d just talked to was out of sight, perhaps she scurried off in fright. Misha pulls his bottom lip in between his teeth, sighing once more. The bags underneath his eyes were growing wider each passing day. He couldn’t get a good night’s sleep ever since he flew back on set almost a week ago. With a reluctant drag in his steps, Misha follows the path to the Makeup Department, preparing himself for yet another long scene with Jared.

_And God knows what that man has in store for him besides fondling his balls and switching his lines_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this chapter sucked. I had to do it in a hurry. Anyways, thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this. :)


	3. Just Friendly Platonic Exchanges

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was rushed, so I’m sorry if I left some details in there. But hopefully, you enjoyed! Happy readings, all!

Misha finished filming around 2 in the morning. What started out as a quick scene in the afternoon turned into half-a-day of filming one scene because Jared either constantly a) messed with the props, b) fondled Misha's balls, c) deliberately mixed up his lines, or d) made extremely explicit facial expressions usually accompanied by a joint image of his fingers just to achieve _one_ goal of his: to make Misha miserable.

Misha walks out of the makeup trailer in his regular clothes, his costume left in the hands of Jenny, the lady who did his touch-ups before he had to film. It was cold outside, with winds bracing sharp daggers of icy temperature. Most of the crew had wrapped up for the day except for a select few who had to stay behind to clean up or finish filming and making final touches on a scene.

Misha pulls his thin black jacket closer to his body, seeking a little bit of warmth until he reaches his trailer which wasn't that far away now. Misha tucks his chin to his chest, fingers clutching his forearms as the cold wind increased in force. He quickens his pace and sighs in relief once he was standing in front his trailer door.

Fishing out for his keys, Misha shuffles from one foot to the next, keeping the heat in his body flowing throughout his slightly numb legs. _Where the hell are my keys?_

Misha pushes both his fingers down deeper, scratching the bottom of his individual jean pockets but his fingers grasp nothing but dusty strings of cotton. He pushes his fingers even deeper, hoping by some miracle that his keys would magically appear in his pockets. Misha gives himself a thorough pat-down, fingers searching every nook and cranny on his body.

" _Oh_ , no," Misha groans softly under his breath, his words coming out in white wisps again the chilling atmosphere. "Did I leave it in my— _I did._ "

Misha rubs his face once more, contemplating his decisions with a sigh. The wardrobe trailer should've already packed for the day so it wouldn't be reasonable to go back. They'd probably realize that Misha's keys were in the pocket of the infamous trench coat in the morning but what good does that do Misha? He _needs_ his keys now. Aside from unlocking his trailer, the keys also unlocks his car and his apartment.

_So I'm screwed. Unless..._

Without any reason why, Misha found himself walking in the direction of Jensen's trailer. If he needs a place to crash, Jensen seems like the logical person to pick from. He could've picked Jared, but his past experiences have told him that he couldn't go by an hour without Jared snoring him awake. _Besides, Jared might've already left for his house._

There was a possibility that Jensen might not even be at his trailer, but Misha doubts that. Considering Jensen had had to do stunts and reshoots all day yesterday, he was probably sore and tired enough to not drive himself home. Misha notes the times Jensen had actually slept in his trailer overnight and it was usually after a long day of stunts and constant reshooting multiple scenes.

Misha's hopes was secured as his eyes lands upon Jensen's black car sitting right beside his... _lit_ trailer. Misha cocks his head to the side in confusion  as he clambers up the steps to knock on his trailer door. _Why was Jensen up at this godforsaken hour?_

Embarrassingly, Misha felt that same giddy feeling stir up in the pits of his half-empty stomach as he waits in anticipation for the face of his knight in cologne and spice to appear in the door. Despite being cold and numb, Misha felt ridiculously warm and hot as he grows anxious.

He was not disappointed. The door swings open, bright yellow lights filtering out from his trailer and onto the cold outside, and there stands Jensen Ackles, a slightly irritated look on his face. The smell of Jensen's cologne mixed in with a hint of spice muzzles up Misha's nose, making him sigh inwardly at the savory scent he's grown to adore over the years.

When Jensen's eyes takes in Misha standing at the door, his irritation quickly subsides and was replaced by a mix of confusion and worry. Misha has to admit, Jensen _did_ look adorable when he was confused and worried.

"Mish? Wha-what are you doing here? It's two in the morning. Shouldn't you be asleep?"

Misha shivers slightly as his cold fingertips scratches the back of his head. "I'm aware of that, Jensen. I can read my watch. See, the thing is, uh, I kinda left my keys in the trench coat and I was hoping if I could crash at your place until morning."

Seeing Jensen's unresponsive state made Misha frantically add, "If that's okay with you, of course."

What happens next befuddles Misha's state of mind with confusion and happiness concurrently. Jensen's monotonous lips stretches upwards slowly into a grin that made his eyes wrinkle as he throws his head back and full-on unicorn laughs.

One of his hands clutches his stomach, the other gripping the frame of the doorway for support as Jensen's deep laugh tumbles through the air. Misha felt his cheeks heat up, scowling up at the man. _Hasn't the world tortured me enough? First, my briefs, then my keys, and now you turn the handsome bastard against me?_

Misha mocks Jensen's laughter after a few moments of enduring his embarrassment in the cold. He shoots Jensen an unimpressive look, arms folded as the man recovers from his fit of laughter. Misha sighs dramatically, sounding like one of those snobby girls on _Gossip Girl_. He rolls his eyes, unfazed.

"You know what? Maybe I'll crash at Richard's trailer. Apparently, he's the only _mature_ one here."

Misha meant it as a joke, something to hopefully kick Jensen with some puberty so he'd mature and let Misha in. The warmth from his trailer was licking hungrily at his numb arms and legs, making him shift in his position. Misha growls internally, cursing silently at Jensen in his head.

The quick change in Jensen's expression made the blood in his numb toes to jumpstart and his whole body to shiver with fear and a slight tingle of excitement. Jensen glowers down at him, posture dangerously brooding over Misha's small frame, his pink lips puffed out in what felt like silent anger. The knuckles that gripped the door frame turns slightly pale, his hand on his stomach curls into a fist.

Subconsciously, Misha made the mistake of making direct eye contact with the stormy eyes and unknowingly flicks his tongue out to wet his dry lips. Misha could’ve sworn he heard a a barely audible growl emit from Jensen’s lips but he brushes it away quickly. _The cold must be messing with my hearing too._

Misha shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose as he clears his throat, washing away the awkward silence that befalls between the two men. He avoids looking at Jensen directly, instead focusing his vision on the cream walls inside Jensen’s trailer.

Jensen was the second one to break the silence, mirroring Misha’s throat clearing. Jensen quickly steps aside, drawing Misha’s attention to focus on him again as he stands beside the door frame, body compressed just enough to let Misha slip into his trailer. Jensen scratches the back of his neck sheepishly, cheeks slightly red.

“Sorry, man. You must be _freezing_ out there. Come in before you suffer from hypothermia or something.”

The heat welcomes Misha and envelopes him in its warm embrace as he steps inside Jensen’s trailer, hands balled deep in his pocket. Misha walks into Jensen’s living area, admiring the large and comfy-looking velvet sofa sitting against the wall of the trailer. He’s tempted to run and drop down onto the sofa and let the deep wishes of sleep take over his body, but he figures that would only leave Jensen in a state of panic and confusion.

Jensen’s trailer was much larger than Misha’s. There was no doubt about that. His trailer was large enough to fit a large living room, a medium-sized kitchen and a decent-sized bedroom sectioned off in the back. Misha’s trailer was probably about one-sixteenth of what this trailer was; large enough to fit a small bedroom and kitchen and a decent-sized living area. Jensen’s living room consisted of a large flat-screen TV mounted on the wall accompanied by at least two large three-seated velvet sofas on the adjacent walls. Under the TV stood a small, brown oak table that held an XBOX console with two controllers sitting neatly beside one another.

He loves how Jensen had decorated his trailer with the very artistic design. He somehow manages to make a barren, cream-colored trailer turn into a mirror image of a warm home. _And that smell._ He couldn’t help but inhale deeply, reminding his brain about the familiarity of cologne and spice mixed together that always manages to soothe his mind and drive him crazy at the same time. Misha almost forgot Jensen was here until his voice snaps him out of his rekindling reunion with his co-star’s trailer.

“Am I really _that_ immature?”

Misha turns around to face Jensen, head tilted slightly at his question. He realizes a few silent moments later that Jensen was referring to the statement he made earlier. Misha’s eyes widen slightly with realization as he let slip a playful smirk.

“Was that a rhetorical question, Jensen?”

 _He’s trying to resist rolling his eyes,_ Misha carefully notes, observing the twitch by the corners of his eyes. Jensen had his thumbs hooked in the pocket of his jeans as he shot Misha with a _don’t-fuck-with-me_ look.

“I’m serious. Am I really that evil to you, Misha?”

The only time he’d heard Jensen use his full name was when Misha had done something to piss him off. Or if Jensen was asking him a serious question and Misha had brushed it off with a smartass retort. Misha drops his smirk immediately, sobering up as he answers Jensen’s questions with ease and care, a slight frown on his face.

“ _What?_ Jen, of course you’re not evil. _Why_ in the world would you think that for _one_ second?” Misha answers sincerely before laughing. “If pranking and teasing me is evil, then hell, wouldn’t everyone be evil? Seriously, Jensen, I don’t think it’ll hurt to read a dictionary once in a while. Preferably, the _modern_ ones.”

Jensen chuckles along, pinching the bridge of his nose with his left hand, face cast slightly downwards to the hardwood floor. A content sigh fell from his lips as he looks up, arm falling back to his side with a thump.

“You might want to think twice before insulting me in _my_ own trailer, Mishka,” Jensen smirks playfully and just like that, everything, the tension, the awkward silence, the seriousness of the situation, were diminished.

Misha folds his arms in response, cocking an eyebrow at him. “Oh, yeah? What are you going to do if I did? Spank me senseless until my cheeks turn deep red? As I recall, that’s not really your style.”

“Don’t tempt me, Mish. I’m not one to back down that easy. Maybe I’ll make an exception _just_ for you,” Jensen throws in a wink and Misha loses it.

He doubles over as he erupts in a fit of laughter and giggles, eyes tearing up. This was the suffering he had to endure on set with scenes that included Jensen and Jared for the past 8-9 years since he’d been on _Supernatural._ It was a common flirtatious exchange between the three friends. It meant nothing more than platonic teasing. Misha had tried to master the art of staying in character while Jensen or Jared endlessly made it their goal to break him by any means necessary, but he didn’t even come close to a breakthrough. He sort of gave up on the idea of suppressing his laughter during takes, hence why he was always late going home every working night.

“This is why _Supernatural_ costs so much, everybody!” Jensen claps his hands in a slow round of applause. Unsurprisingly, Jensen manages to keep his posture and facial expressions the same while Misha was wheezing and dying of laughter in front of him. Jensen was just _that_ talented.

“Because Misha Collins couldn’t stop giggling in every take.”

Misha regains himself after another breakout of giggles consumes his body a few minutes ago. He wipes the corners of his eyes, a wide grin planted on his face.

“Hey, it takes two to tango, Ackles. I’m just the product of your doing, so technically I contribute _less_ to the after effects of the cost. _You_ , on the other hand...”

Jensen rolls his eyes at his statement, a grin plastered on. “ _Mhm, sure_. Whatever tickles your bone, Mish.”

Jensen releases a yawn, rubbing his eyes in response. The bags under his eyes are more evident without his makeup on and Misha can only imagine what his bags looks like under Jensen’s view. Jensen runs a hand down his face, eyes looking worn out, but he manages a genuine smile.

“This was not what I imagined catching up would look like. It’s nice but I assume you’re probably tired and need to catch up on some shut-eye.”

Misha can’t help it. It slips out of his mouth before he could control it.

“ _Really?_ What gave it away? Was it the bags or my horrendous imitation of Gollum’s physical appearance?”

Jensen throws his head back and laughs, finally breaking his straight act. Misha enjoys how the melodies of his laughter played in his ears, it was the music he’d never get sick and tired of. He could play it on repeat and listen to it until the day his ears stops working.

“That was good. I have to give that to you, Mish,” Jensen laughs, eyes crinkling. He settles down after a few seconds. “I’m going to turn in for the night. You can take the couch. Uh, there’s a set of blankets that you can use if you need them.”

Misha could finally feel the heavy burden of sleep weigh down upon his eyelids. The heat wasn’t making it any better either. Misha smiles tiredly at him, eyes half-closed as he fought the battle of staying conscious.

“Goodnight, Jensen.”

“G’night, Mish.”


	4. Eggs And Man-Phases

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait. I rushed through this. Happy readings!

The sound of a vibrating cellphone woke Misha up at roughly 10 past 6. He groans into the cloth of the couch, face buried on one of the arms. Blindly, he stretches out one of his hands and reaches inside his pocket, pulling out the cause of his consciousness. He was tired beyond a doubt and a couple more hours of shut eye would do him justice, but he knew it wouldn't be possible because he had an early day of shooting today.

He slid his thumb across the screen, silencing the vibrating alarm he'd routinely set for at 6:10. Normally, he'd be up usually five minutes later, all clad in his running gear with music pumping in his ears. But seeing as how he had locked himself out of his own trailer, it looks as though his plans for the morning would be delayed until tomorrow. Misha buries his face into the cushion of the armrest with a soft groan, contemplating whether or not he should get up or go back to sleep.

After what felt like half an hour later of evaluating his choices, Misha slowly untangles himself from the warm couch, running his hands through his face as he stood up and stretches his body to wake up his joints. He stretches his arms next, curling his fingers at the end, hearing the satisfying _pop_ of his bones as they slid back into place. He let out a little yawn, stifling it with his hand as he glances towards Jensen's closed bedroom door at the end of the hallway. _He must still be sleeping._

Misha couldn't help but recall the events that played out last night, letting a new wave of gratitude flush over his body at the kindness Jensen displayed yesterday night. He wanted to thank him in some way and as Misha glances around for something to repay Jensen with, his eyes fell upon the medium-sized untouched kitchenette and he couldn't help but smile to himself.

Throughout all the years Misha had known the man, he'd learned that Jensen would avoid stepping into a kitchen when possible. The man had tried to cook for Misha once in his apartment in Washington...let's just say the stove alone costed Misha a few hundred dollars to replace. Overall, Misha had vowed to never let Jensen near any of _his_ kitchen appliances again. _God knows when Jensen had tasted his last home cooked meal._ It would be a nice treat to Jensen to taste something savory and organic instead of pre-made microwaveable breakfast.

Misha set forth the task of making his signature eggs in a basket and some sausage links bathed in hot olive oil and minced garlic. Thankfully, Jensen's refrigerator held all of the ingredients he needed to accomplish what he wanted done. It takes Misha a couple minutes to get everything ready and on the hot pan but soon enough, the fragrance of eggs and herbs wafts in the air, rumbling Misha's stomach in the process as he continues to cook the meal.

Misha was transferring the last of the cooked sausages onto a plate when the king himself shuffles into the kitchen, knuckles rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he slid into a bar stool where the food was lying in wait, steam coming off in large waves. Jensen opens his mouth to yawn, covering his mouth with one hand.

"Is it my birthday or something?"

Misha rolls his eyes at his rhetoric statement, switching the stove off. He reaches up in the cabinets above him and pulls out two glasses, proceeding to fill them with water. He slides one to Jensen along with his neatly decorated plate of breakfast before leaning against the sink counter, sipping his glass of water and observing Jensen quietly.

Jensen's hair was disheveled and disorderly, a rare form of hairstyle Misha has seen only once when they'd shared a hotel room together at a convention. The hair alone would drive fangirls and boys crazy if they saw Jensen in this state. Not to mention that he was also wearing a pair of black sweatpants that hung low on his well-defined hips when he walked by, revealing the hint of Jensen's V-line. His AC/DC short-sleeved shirt seemed faded, but nonetheless never fail to address how _fucking sexy_ this god sitting in front of Misha is. Even his vibrant green eyes seem to clash with the outfit, bringing out the freckles on his face even more.

"Like what you see?"

Misha's cheeks burn slightly as he swallows down the lump of water in his throat. He taps his fingers on his glass out of habit, rolling his eyes once again.

"Shut up and eat, Ackles," Misha takes a sip from his glass once more before fixing a plate for himself, pulling two sausage links and sneakily snatching a couple bits of eggs off of Jensen's plate with his fork.

"Hey!" Jensen proceeds to clutch his plate to his chest protectively, a childish angry pout heavy on his lips as he glares playfully at Misha. " _My_ food, mister!"

Mouthful of eggs, Misha gave him a cheeky grin, swallowing down the content in his mouth so he could retort back a response. "Couldn't let those eggs go cold, Jen. Besides, you're a very slow eater this morning. I was just helping you along."

Jensen huffs out a smirk, eyes challenging blue ones. "You wanna bet, Collins?"

Misha crosses his arms, a firm look on his face as he waves his fork at Jensen as if he was reprimanding him for doing something bad. "Put your plate down and eat. The last thing I want to do is clean up the contents from your stomach off of the floor."

Jensen obliged willingly with a disappointed huff. "Says the man who puked on my bed a couple years ago."

"I guess someone should've listened when I said I wasn't feeling so good instead of brushing it off as a joke," Misha responds defensively with a slight smirk, turning around to wash the dirty dishes scattered around the kitchen.

"You were violently ill," Jensen recalls, the sound of his fork clinking against the glass plate. "Must've been a side-effect of growing old, huh."

"Hey, now, watch it. I'm only three years older than you, Jen," Misha shuts off the water, placing the clean dish in his hands in the drying rack before drying his hands with a clean cloth lying on the counter.

He turns back to Jensen with a cocky smile. "Pretty soon you'll hit that marker and I've already planned on being as far away from you as I possibly can. Strictly phone calls and poking each other on Facebook."

Jensen grins up at him, shoving a piece of sausage in his mouth. "You livestream your whole life, Mish. I could track you down within seconds if I wanted to. I don't think secrecy is imported inside your life, man."

Misha brushes away his comment, running a hand through his hair. "I should probably leave you to your own trailer. The wardrobe guys should be setting up for the day."

"And here I thought we were having a moment," Jensen shakes his head as he stands up, stretching his arms upwards. Misha's eyes are immediately drawn to the piece of skin that shows as Jensen's shirt rode up. It was brief, only for a second or two, much to Misha's disappointment, before Jensen places his arms back to his sides.

Jensen escorts Misha to the entrance of his trailer, opening the door like a gentleman. Misha smiles at Jensen as he passes through the doorway, clapping his hands on Jensen's muscled shoulder as he did so. Just as Misha was about to retrieve his hand, Jensen did the unthinkable.

He grabs Misha's hand that was on his shoulder and leans dangerously close, eyes fluttering shut as he caves into Misha's neck. _Close but not touching_. Misha sucks in a breath, frozen in his place. Even the cool air of the morning couldn't manage to chill his flushed state as he stood just outside of Jensen's trailer on his steps.

" _Mmm,_ " Jensen hums in the area of Misha's neck. Although Jensen was nowhere near touching the heated skin of Misha's neck, Misha could instantly imagine how Jensen's hum would _feel_ against his skin. "You smell like eggs, Mish. I’ll see you later, bud."

That was that. Misha was met with a quick slam of the door on his face, all contact from Jensen gone. He stood there on the steps of Jensen's trailer, confused and aroused out of his mind. _Did Jensen just smell me?_

A lot of questions warbled through Misha's mind that morning when he retrieves his keys from a very amused wardrobe lady, then some more as he stood in the shower stall in his trailer with hot droplets of water sliding down his slick back. _Then_ the realization that in just a few hours he would have to endure another 6 hours on set with the man and his giant of a best friend, Jared.

Misha tilts his head upwards, letting the stinging hot pellets of water drop and slide off of his face. He ran his hands through his wet hair, cocooning to the warmth that the water provided, urging himself to spend at least another half an hour under the scalding water as if it could wash away the sins of his life. But he knew he couldn't. He needs to practice his lines, call Vicki, and clean his trailer again. _Anything that could take away his focus on Jensen._

With a reluctant groan, Misha reaches out his hand and shuts off the water, running his hands through his wet hair once more before stepping out of the shower. The cold embraces his body the second he steps out and Misha shivers in response.

He remembers how Jensen's touch made him feel that way. The way his fingertips would graze his arms as he walked off the stage at conventions, or the reassuring squeeze on his thighs when they did panels together. The warmth that emitted from his friendly grip when he would clap Misha's shoulders and then squeeze them, letting his hold linger there for just a second longer. Then this morning when he hastily gripped Misha’s hand and leaned into his neck, the top of his nose prickling the skin of his neck. Misha could still smell the scent of spice and flowers with a hint of cologne when Jensen leaned in. He could _feel_ the electricity coursing through his veins as Jensen hummed lowly into his neck, imagining and _feeling_ the vibration echo throughout his body. Just the thought alone sent some of the warm, fuzzy excitement that erupted in his stomach to ignite down south.

Misha violently shook those thoughts away, brushing them aside. He shoves those thoughts deep in the back of his head, locking them away for now. He can’t afford to let his stupid infatuation cloud his acting and distract him from performing his job.

 _It’s probably just a man-phase, anyway,_ Misha concludes with finality as he wraps himself in a towel, cocooning himself with his warmth. He proceeds to get dressed for the day. A _long_ and _hard_ day at best.


	5. Mind Games

"He's _what_?"

"Uh, I said—"

"I know exactly what you said, Padalecki. I'm just wondering why the _hell_ wasn't I informed of this?"

Jared blinks down at Misha repeatedly before his eyebrows rose up, a confused smile on his lips. "Um, I did? Like _three_ days ago, man. We were having beers in my trailer. You, me, Jackles. _Remember?_ "

Misha looks up, squinting his eyes at the man. _Damn Jared. He's so fucking tall it should be illegal._ Now that he recalls, Misha _do_ have a faint memory of discussing Jensen's sixth directorial debut with the two of them. Although he was kinda distracted by the way Jensen's lips parted and moved as he talked. Or the way his full pink lips wrapped itself around the mouth of his beer bottle in a manner that made Misha shift uncomfortably in his seat as he forced himself to focus on the football game playing on Jared's 4K TV.

"Why is it _such_ a big deal? He's directed you before, it shouldn't be any different," Jared inserts, grinning downwards, obviously basking in the fact that he's 10 feet taller than anybody on set and therefore concludes that he's practically the king of all of them. "What's wrong, Mish? Afraid that Jackles will be the dominant one in the relationship? I always figured you for a bot—"

"If you so much as _finish_ that sentence, so help me Chuck, not even the fangirls and boys will protect you against me," Misha threatens the tall man, taking slight offense to Jared's statement. 

He _wasn't_ a bottom. Sure, he might have some feminine qualities, but did that _really_ let everyone perceive him as being the submissive one in a relationship? _No,_ he could be dominant if he wanted to. Actually, he would be. Under all that facade Misha put up, at the end of the day, it would be _him_ who would be pinning Jensen against the wall, holding his wrists above his head as he attacked Jensen's skin with his mouth while he slowly teased him down south with an occasional thrust of his hips onto his hardened erection. Misha would be the cause of Jensen's moans, cries and begs of pleasure. He had self-control whereas Jensen was more prone to give in easily if he pushed just enough. 

Jared puts up both his hands as a sign of backing off. "Hey, don't attack on the precious moose. _Geez,_ what's got your thongs in a twist today?"

Misha was about to bark back a comment, intent on wiping Jared's playful smirk off of his face, but they were immediately called on set soon after. With a grumble, Misha made his way onto set, followed by a cackling Jared who smacked his ass hard when they split directions to get their final touch-ups on makeup done before they were due to shoot.

___

" _Jesus fucking Christ, Jared,_ " Misha fumes as he swats the broom handle away from his crotch. "Do you _ever_ stop being fascinated with fondling my balls?"

Jared only grins wider, offering Misha a playful wink as he laughs his head off, wasting yet another hour of filming one scene when they should've been filming the second one by now. Even Jensen, who offered Misha no chance at small talk with the exception of directions on what he wants done, seems aggressively annoyed at Jared's playfulness and constant need to mess with Misha and the takes.

"Jared, come on, man," Jensen's voice booms off set, a tone of annoyance and aggravation lacing underneath his statement. "Quit messing around and get this done before I officially kick your gigantic ass out for this scene."

"Just for recognizing my gigantic ass, I'll _try_ not to," Jared grins back at Jensen who stood off to the side, headsets on and a flat look on his face as he stared back. "No promises, though!"

Jared turns back to Misha who looks as if he wanted to be anywhere _but_ here. Misha had no idea why his balls were so fun to fondle. Jensen does it, _rarely_. Jared does it _routinely_. It's like an attraction for abuse. For one, the reaction made Misha angry, but he would always interrupt in giggles soon after. He couldn't really _stay_ mad at the two pranksters who used him as a whipping post so often. It was quite frustrating at times and he wanted to hurl down on his bed and cry and shout and vent his frustration unto the world. _But that's why I have Vicki. She's my anchor, my rock. My stability at my lowest point._

"Alright, alright. Let's do this. For realsies now," Jared claps his hand, smoothing his face out. Immediately, he transforms into Sam, the slightly crouched figure with a face that looks like he'd been through enough to know what evil is. This time he delivers his lines with little to none tomfoolery, much to Misha's approval.

They finish all of the scenes they need to shoot for the day about 7 hours later. Thanks to Jared who obviously _'tried'_ not to mess around, they were all stuck on set until 7 at night, a couple hours late than they should've been. They'd all promised to hang out at Jensen's trailer after, with Misha being reluctant to say yes due to events that occurred earlier in the morning. But settling it in his mind, Misha shrugs after a moment and said he'd be there in a few, pushing aside his weird bubbly feelings. Besides, Misha isn't worried. He's convinced that it's probably one of those phases every actor goes through where they miraculously think that their co-stars likes them as more than a friend but it turns out they're both wrong. Nothing happens, life goes on and the universe spins once again.

Misha stops by his trailer for a brief visit, just enough to change into more comfortable clothing. He shrugs on a white button down before pulling a cat sweater over his shirt, making sure his collar was situated right. His black jeans were accompanied by a pair of black sneakers with white stripes. Then he was off to Jensen's trailer, phone and keys in hand.

It was only Alex, Jared, Jensen and Misha in the trailer that night. Jensen and Alex were crouching over their stomachs, their butts on the edges of the couches as their fingers worked the controls on the Xbox controller, eyes permanently glued to the large screen TV. It seems as if they were playing some type of RPG shooting simulation game because they would often shout commands to one another and yell to the other to watch out before an explosion happened on screen.

It was Jared who'd invited him in, clapping his back as a greeting. Misha smiled up at him in return, following Jared to the kitchen as the man rummages through Jensen's fridge, talking to Misha over his shoulder.

"Want a beer, Mish?"

Misha shakes his head before he reminds himself that Jared couldn't see his actions. "Uh, no, I'm good. Water's just fine."

Jared hums in acknowledgment before he pokes his head out, closing the refrigerator door with a cold water bottle in hand. He passes the bottle to Misha, taking a sip out of his beer bottle afterwards. The two man step closer, an initiate for a conversation starter. 

Jared jerks his elbows in the direction of Jensen, whose loud commands towards Alex only makes the game much more intense than it should be. 

"You notice something different about Jackles, Mish?"

Misha takes a swig out of his bottle, stalling time as he swallows the thick lump that formed in his throat at the question. He clears his throat before he answers with a shrug.

"He's growing grey hairs?"

Jared only responds with a slight chuckle before he tones it down to a much serious level, voice lower than normal. "Well, aside from that. He's been acting weird ever since he came back on set."

" _Really?_ " Misha's voice was two octave higher than he intends his sarcastic statement to be. He immediately coughs it away when Jared gives him an odd look.

"Sorry, I've been having this, uh," Misha coughs again, " _....Jensitis_ for awhile. Damn virus."

Jared scrunches up his nose, eyes narrowing in thought. " _Jensitis?_ Huh, I think I've heard that term before. There was an outbreak in Africa or something, but nothing they couldn't handle with a few injections."

Misha nods along, taking another thirsty sip from his bottle out of sheer nervousness. "Anyway, you were saying how he was acting weird. What exactly did you notice?"

Jared pops right back into the subject, shuffling closer to Misha as his voice drops lower. Jensen and Alex were now arguing over whose fault was it that caused one of them to die and the other to win. Misha couldn't help but roll his eyes at the two. _So childish._

"He's been really moody lately, ya know?" Jared explains, voice lacing with concern. It was touching to see Jared like this. As someone who basically grew up together with Jensen on the show, Jared and Jensen had developed this sort of brotherly bond, which is one of the main reasons why their acting molded so easily together. It's why this show had lasted as long as it did. The bond and the relationship between the cast and crew in _Supernatural_ was something you couldn't find in every set of a TV show or a movie production. It was _rare._  

"Well, I remember being extremely moody when _I_ turned 40," Misha shrugs as if it wasn't a big deal, "although I blame that solely on West who miraculously convinced himself that everyday was his birthday."

Jared huffs out a stressful sigh, running a single hand through his smooth brown locks. He shifts away from Misha, emptying out the rest of the contents in his beer bottle before he spoke.

"I'm being serious, Misha. I'm _really_ worried, ya know? Just....you and Jensen have a much more intimate relationship than I do with him. Could you just check in on him? To make sure he's okay?" 

Jared glances at Misha with a desperate need for him to agree. Misha nods his head almost immediately, concern wearily etched onto his face. He lays a hand on Jared's ridiculously tall shoulders in a reassuring squeeze, tightening the emotional bond between the two of them. 

"Yeah, of course, Jared. I'll check—"

"Hey there, Mish! Jar-Jar," Jensen's voice interjects all of a sudden, forcing the two of them to spring back away from each other as they recollect their posture, acting as if they hadn't been discussing their conspiracies regarding Jensen. "What are you two gossiping about now?"

Jensen swerves around them, taking a mild interest in their responses as he opens his fridge doors to pull out two beer bottles, assuming one for him and Alex. He shuts the fridge door completely with a smile as he turns around to set them on the counter, proceeding to pop the top off of each bottle. 

Misha glances at Jared for an answer, only to be met with the same reaction from him. Misha decides to take the reign, shrugging his shoulders whilst sticking his thumb inside the pocket of his jeans.

"Uh, nothing of import. Conventions and..."

"Jensitis," Jared finishes off with a stumble and Misha could've sworn he could hear his heart flip back a hundred miles. If his glares could kill, Jared would be on the floor in a span of milliseconds. Not only did Misha make up a fake virus he apparently had, he used _Jensen's_ name in it too which was far more embarrassing than he thought it sounded in his head.

Jensen cocks an eyebrow, face flush slightly red as his eyes flick quickly from Jared to Misha as if he knew that it was Misha who made the name up instantly. But then...he _completely_ looks away, clears his throat and shrugs it off as if looking at Misha had been a disease entirely on its own that he didn't want to catch. Jensen snatches the two bottles and grips them by their neck, proceeding to click his teeth as he walks past them towards an innocent looking cinnamon roll named Alex.

"Well, whatever knocks your doors," Jensen retorts, bumping slightly into Misha as he walks pass them. Almost instantly, as if on reflex, Misha's head turns at the same time Jensen does, and their eyes lock on for what felt like a millennium. 

The spark of heat and electricity shot up on the shoulder that both men were brushed upon, increasing the unknown tension between them. The emerald green in Jensen's eyes grows a whole shade darker, his pupils quickly dominating the hue of his eyes as he stares into Misha's now dark blue ones. Both their breaths hitched, breathing quickening in a span of a few seconds. 

Misha felt the impulse just then. The _need_ to lean in and close the gap between them. _Anything_ that had to do with coming in contact with Jensen's heated skin. The look in Jensen's dark and stormy eyes sent the heated blood out of Misha's brain to serenade into his cock. He knew he needs to stop, that this was just all mind games Jensen occasionally pulled on him just to mess with his mental state.

It was all a part of the _'man-phase'_ , so Misha calls it. Over the years, Jensen had inserted dirty innuendos concerning the two of them, even going as far as simply acting them out without touching him. It made Misha crazy for the first couple years before he grew accustomed to the looks and explicit gestures Jensen threw his way. Misha had always despised this part of the phase. The _eye-fucking_. He would glance into Jensen's emerald eyes, seeing how each passing second made his pupils grow larger and the hue of his eyes drop down a shade darker and he would feel his eyes doing the same. Then came the high tension in the air that made Misha crave for _more_ than just staring. His fingers _itched_ to grip a part of Jensen, pulling him in and never letting go. But Misha was always the first one to break it up, scolding himself for being so gullible to the man's obvious childish mind games.

And he held up his streak too. Misha immediately cast a glance towards the floor, cheeks slightly flushed as he takes in a deep breath that was long overdue and mumbles an apology out of habit. Just for added measure, Misha clears his throat once more and took a step away from Jensen, chugging the rest of the water down his hoarse throat before proceeding to toss the bottle away as if that was his excuse for breaking their man-phase moment.

"Yo, Ackles, the beer's not gonna walk itself, you know," Alex's voice breaks the ten-second interaction that felt like ages to the two tense men, pulling Jensen and Jared's focus back on the young man sitting forward on the couch with his phone in hand and a grin plastered on his face. "If you're still sour over the game, I won't mind playing for round two if it means beating you again."

Jared smirks just then, seeming oblivious to the events that happened moments ago. " _Ouch._ Jay, you're going to let the newbie talk to you that way, man?"

It amazes Misha how Jensen could completely change his posture in a matter of seconds if he wanted to. He'd change his expression as if nothing had just happened because it's Jensen. Jensen was always reserved and usually the one who avoided confronting things head-on, he'd rather avoid them for as long as he could. Even if it meant hurting the other participant just for him to reassure himself that life was exactly normal and to his standards. Misha felt a pang of hurt hit him in his heart, but he swallowed it down with a forced smile at the situation. _I'm used to it anyway._

"Like hell I will," Jensen grumbles hotly as he storms his way back to the couch, faces of determination written on it. "Prepare to be dethroned, _shortstack._ Because I'm going to win this time."

Needless to say, the next couple of hours going into midnight was nothing but disappointment on Misha's part. He tries looking somewhat reasonable to avoid raising suspicion but as he sat there on the couch in Jensen's trailer, his eyes watching Jensen, Alex, and Jared shout over one another in good humor over the game they were playing, he came to the realization that maybe the _’man-phases’_ weren't imaginary as he made it out to be. That maybe Jensen reciprocated the same feelings Misha thinks he has. 

A feeling of hope shot through Misha's body, but was quickly shut down as he focuses his eyes on Jensen's firm posture. A fleeting memory of two years ago passes through his head and an ache reopened in his heart as he recalls Jensen recoiling away from their intimate hug backstage before Misha's panel as soon as he spotted a group of people heading their way. 

Misha rubs his eyes with a barely audible sigh, crawling back to doubt his feelings. _Yup, it's just a man-phase. A stupid, silly man-phase. And I'm stupid enough to be in it._


	6. A Little Bit Carried Away

It was sometime around 2 in the morning when Jensen and Misha were left alone in Jensen’s trailer after Alex left with Jared strung drunk over his shoulders, almost on the edge of falling asleep. Misha almost followed suit, standing ready by the trailer door to leave because he wasn't ready to face Jensen alone, but his selflessness kicks in when he notices how dirty Jensen's trailer was. There were beer bottles scattered on the tables and wrappers of candies and empty bags of chips floating around the floor and it was _two_ in the morning. They had work tomorrow. He couldn't let Jensen clean up all on his own despite the goal of avoiding him. That would be cruel, unfair and selfish in one take. And Misha wasn't that kind of person.

So the two men spent the next half an hour in awkward, palpable silence, picking up trash and stuffing them into the large black heavy duty trash bags, purposefully avoiding the other within three feet radius. They both swerved around trash that could only propel them closer, and only begun to pick it up once the other was out of range.

 _This is fucking ridiculous_ , Misha chides in his head as he ties his trash bag and puts it aside to be thrown out later. _Come on, Misha. What are you, in middle school? Man up and speak, goddamit._

"So—"

"Yea—"

 _Wow. That was awkward._ Misha reddens, losing the nerves in his body just from that. He brushes his statement away, gesturing at Jensen in apology to continue. He rubs the back of his neck with his other hand, attempting to dissolve the awkward feeling in the air.

"Sorry, um, go ahead."

Jensen shakes his head rapidly, a sincere look on his face. " _No_ , no. You go first, Mish. By all means, I don't mind at all."

Misha sticks his thumbs inside his jean pockets, biting his lip. A playful grin, mask by a serious statement flows out of his mouth, breaking the awkward moment between them in half. "No, seriously. Ladies first, Jen."

 _There it is_ , Misha observes patiently, eyes watching Jensen as the edge of his lips tug into a small, genuine smile he's been missing since the start of their awkward occurrences. Jensen places the piece of trash he had in his hands inside the trash bag before settling it down with a soft thump.

" _Oh_ , is that how it's going to be?" Jensen's smile broadens into a playful grin, arms crossing over his chest loosely. "Well, then. I appreciate your candor on my being, but I, for one, personally think you won the title, Mish. So as I said before, by all means, go ahead."

Misha rolls his eyes but he couldn't help a soft smile from forming. _Seeing Jensen happy makes me happy even if it hurts me._ Misha flutters his lips as he responds. "Always with the _very_ hurtful insults. _Fine_ , if you insist."

Misha settles down onto the couch, patting the seat beside him as an invitation to sit down. Jensen obliges willingly with an eye roll, slouching on the other end of the couch with his right arm stretched atop the cushion, body facing Misha. His shirt rose up a little bit, causing Misha to lick his lips reflexively before he averts his eyes away, wary that Jensen might've noticed him.

"Well, um," Misha starts off, clasping his hands as he set his worry gaze on Jensen. "Are you okay?"

Jensen laughs at that one, completely oblivious to the fact that the question didn't entail his state at the moment but rather his whole presence ever since he arrived on set a couple weeks ago. He grins at Misha as he responds.

"I mean, I'm slightly drunk at the moment, if that's what you mean."

"No, that's _not_ what I meant," Misha rubs his face with a tone of annoyance lacing his voice. "We're all worried about you, Jensen. You've been _moody_ and _unpredictable_ ever since you flew in some weeks ago. You blew up on a new PA for being late, which is kind of ironic considering you arrive later than anyone else. You're weirdly reserved and it's bugging me, Jen. Is there something wrong? Did Dani say something? Did something _happen_ to her and the kids? Is it..."

Misha swallows the heavy lump in his throat, averting his gaze for a moment. "Is it _me?_ "

Jensen's side was quiet for a few minutes too long. When Misha raises his eyes to assess Jensen and why he was so quiet, he notes how Jensen's whole figure sobered up, a grim look on his face as he stares down at his shoes or the hardwood floor. A sinking feeling hit him in his chest. _He looked so...sad and tired_.

It breaks Misha to see him that way and he wanted nothing more than to collect his friend in his arms and comfort the negative feelings away. Jensen spoke before Misha could initiate a hug. His voice was dull and flat, like he was expecting it all along,

"Jared told you, huh? _Figures_. Seems like Jared," Jensen bitterly accuses, avoiding the question entirely. "Is that what you two were gossiping about in the kitchen? _Me?_ "

"We're just _worried_ about you," Misha defends quickly, a confused frown on his face. "And obviously we were right to worry. Look how you're reacting right now. I'm just trying to find out _why._ "

"Look, I'm _fine_ , Mish," Jensen scoffs lightly, rubbing his face as he tries to accentuate his point across. " _God_ , you and Jared are always reading into things. I'm just stressed that's all. Just let it go and let me be, man."

Misha tilts his head, a concern look etched on his face as he leans forward to rest his hand on Jensen's knee. The muscles under his palm were thick with tension, as if something was holding Jensen back from relaxing. Jensen's face turns slightly to face Misha, eyes slightly wide in surprise at the sudden gesture of affection.

" _Jensen_ ," Misha utters softly, voice smooth and concerned, almost hypnotizing. Shining green eyes stare into cool blue ones, seeking solace and comfort. "I want to help you. _Please_ , let me help. Tell me what's really wrong."

Jensen opens his mouth to speak, eyes captivated by blue ones, and for a second, Misha is convinced that he had finally gotten Jensen to open up. But that second passes and Jensen is immediately reminded that this is reality and reality can be harsher than the imaginary world. Misha watches in disappointment as Jensen averts his face away from him and quickly builds his walls back up, receding his knees away from Misha's affectionate touch in one swift pull.

"I-I can't. I'm sorry."

Misha frowns, taking his chance to scoot closer to Jensen until there was at least a few inches left between them. He lays a hand on Jensen's shoulder, attempting to establish a secure bond in which Jensen might feel comfortable enough to confide in Misha. He was pushing it, but he didn’t care. All that matters was that Jensen was okay.

"Jen—"

"Misha, _fuck_ ," Jensen snaps, brushing his hand off of his shoulders. "Now's not the right time, alright? I...I can't risk losing everything now. I just can't."

"Risk what, Jensen?" Misha comments softly, deciding to just play along. Jensen's not exactly sober so it would make it easier for him to trip up something if Misha plays his cards right.

" _Everything!_ " Jensen rubs his face, shoulders sagging as he buries his face in his hands. "Every goddamn thing good to me. I want to. You have no fucking idea how tempting it is to just drop everything for a shot at exactly nothing but everything."

A bit of Jensen's drunk talk fumbles Misha's mind but he pushes it aside for now, focusing on Jensen's ramblings.

“To stand right next to the temptations and pretend everything is a-okay. And then Danneel and the kids and I...I don't know what the fuck I'm doing, Mish. I don't know if this is the life I want anymore."

"And what exactly is it you want, Jen?"

Jensen lifts his head up, eyes staring distantly into his hands. He doesn't say anything, but turns his head to smile softly at Misha. Misha's heart pulled for Jensen at that exact moment, seeing him so broken and fraught and troubled. And a smile that hid so many secrets. Misha wanted to console him and comfort him in his arms, whispering gentle things into his ear and tell him everything will be okay, but he resists the urge to do so, thinking that it'd be overstepping his boundaries.

"You're many things, Collins. But you're so _goddamn_ blind," Jensen laughs off softly, almost bitter as he turns his head away, shaking his head at himself. "It doesn't matter anyway. There's always a blind barrier somewhere between me and the things I want."

As if Misha's mind wasn't confusing enough, Jensen's statement threw him off. What exactly was he blind to? Was there something he should've known? Maybe a piece of segment on one of their talks that he'd zone out because he was too busy admiring Jensen? _What was it? Why did it bother him so much?_

"Jensen, I assure you," Misha recollects himself, tilting his head even further as he deepens his confused facial expression, almost achieving Castiel status. "I have a pair of perfectly functioning eyes. I have no idea what you're referring to. And honestly...I'm a little bit lost. Care to redirect me?"

Cobalt blue eyes watches the man in front of him as he shifts his whole body to face Misha, a face mixed with regret, guilt, excitement, and also nervousness. _A weird mixture_ , Misha can't help but note as he dons his best state of confusion Castiel wore, lips slightly parted to add to the effects. _Like he's contemplating whether to act and suffer the consequence or restrain himself and save his reputation_.

The next thing Jensen does shocks Misha into staying still. Jensen manages to lean forward, his right hand plants itself on the couch beside Misha's legs and his left hand embracing the back of Misha's neck. Jensen starts to lean in and Misha is stunned into silence, feeling his heartbeat pulse faster with every inch that was lost between them as Jensen starts to close the gap. Just a couple centimeters away from lip-to-lip contact does Jensen stop, his hot breath driving Misha crazy. _Was this really happening?_

"Don't freak out on me, Mish.”

It wasn't a passionate kiss at best. It was more of a kiss testing its way out of a pilot scene onto something more definite. Jensen's plump lips captures Misha's in a slow dance, kissing the frozen man softly as if his kiss might melt his statue state. The hand supporting Misha's neck felt comfortable, and even more so when a thumb started to gently massage his head, easing him slowly back into reality.

_Is Jensen really kissing me? Or am I just imagining things? This feels real. Oh god. Jensen is kissing me. Why can't I stop it? Dammit, Misha. Stop this. But it feels so fucking good. I've waited a long time for this to happen. And I'll be damned if I let this opportunity slip past me again. Even if it's not real. Even if something doesn't come out of it._

Misha cracks into motion after a few seconds, bringing his hands up to cradle the back of Jensen's neck as he moves his lips for the first time, eyes shut tight as he concentrates on this moment. Jensen seems to be encouraged by his actions because he starts to push Misha back, kissing him harder as his body turns to almost straddle Misha's hips.

Jensen tasted like mint and alcohol combined, a soothing combination that Misha could never get tired of. Their lips molded as one, an occasional clash of their teeth happening once or twice. Jensen pushes harder, lips abusing Misha's in a fervor attempt to gain more coverage as if time was limited. Misha tilts his head in response, fingers digging into Jensen's neck as he pulled the man closer.

The quick swipe of Jensen's tongue on Misha's bottom lip was enough to get a soft groan out of Misha, the vibration rolling through their connected mouths. Jensen takes this opportunity as a chance to slip his tongue inside which only caused Misha to moan deeply as his hands starts to tangle themselves in Jensen's hair. Their bodies were a heated mess on the couch, with Misha on the bottom and Jensen on top, his legs trapping the man underneath as their hands roam from face to upper chest, clutching every purchase they could find.

Soft moans fills the room, the sounds of wet lips smacking and separating increasing every now and then as the need and desperation consumes the two men. Hands were feverishly grabbing hair and skin, seeking contact and warmth. Misha tosses his head back, a breathless pant leaving his lips as Jensen removes his hot mouth to trail his kisses and bites down his neck, hands gripping Misha's hips and holding him steady as he too releases breathy gasps in between.

" _Jen—_ "

A knock on the door knocks them both back into reality. All motion ceased, except the heavy breathing of the two men who blinked at one another. The living room was thick with tension and fear, an exact replica of how Misha felt at the moment. His blue eyes widens at Jensen's fearful green ones, and he chastises himself for getting carried away. He fell for it again. One of Jensen's stupid games. With a grunt, Misha pushes Jensen off of him and adjusts himself before he proceeds to open the door.

Alex was standing just outside, looking quite tired and worn out. He was shivering profusely in the cold, his arms hugging themselves in an attempt to keep the warmth. His eyes were a little surprised to see Misha standing there with a disgruntled look in his eyes.

"Oh, he...hey, Misha. I...I left my jacket in there and I kinda need it back."

Misha forces a smile onto his face as he steps aside to let Alex pass through. "Sure. I think it's by the the coffee table under the TV."

"Ah, thanks," Alex offers him a small smile as he walks in, passing Jensen along the way. "Hey, man."

It was as if nothing had happened between them. The couch was back to normal and Jensen's ruffled and rugged hair from Misha's fingers were back to its original slick-backed look like nothing had ever sifted through them. Jensen was leaning against the couch, a smile forced onto his lips as he nods at Alex in acknowledgment. Misha's eyes scans him, hoping for some miracle that Jensen would meet his eyes. But purposefully, Jensen avoids his gaze, and instead focuses on the fabric of the couch.

A bitter feeling passes through Misha's chest. _Of course_ , Misha spat inside his brain with a deep and bitter intensity, _avoidance is his best game after all._ This was all just a game for Jensen. A fucking game to rouse Misha up. He didn't mean anything by it. He's probably just acting on his drunk instincts, and who better to test it on than Misha? Misha was the whipping boy anyhow. He was quick to forgive, to see past anything, living a life filled with no regrets. He was the brunt of everyone's joke, a punching bag because Misha never took anything too heavy to heart. And that made Misha vulnerable, easy to succumb into any sick games Jensen and Jared pulled on him. But this one was by far the worst. Jensen hadn't just managed to pull his heart in, but he also managed to crack it in half like a piece of unwanted cracker.

"Thanks again, Jen," Alex waves goodbye with the hand that was gripping his jacket. He claps Misha on the back as a farewell greeting as he exits out of the trailer. Misha didn't feel like sticking around Jensen. An environment that toxic was enough to drive him to the edge of snapping.

"I'm going to go."

"Mish, wait."

" _No._ "

Misha whirls around with an angry glare sent towards Jensen who stood up, silencing himself from speaking any further.

"I'm _leaving_. This was a mistake from the beginning. Have a good night, Jensen."

Just like that, Misha walks out of the dreaded trailer, leaving Jensen all alone in his compartment holding his half of Misha's crumbled heart in his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You’re probably mad at me. Yikes. But hey, I updated early. So it might mean I’m going to publish another chapter up by the end of this week! Any who, have faith in Jensen and Misha because their destination is not yet over! ;) 
> 
> Don’t forget to click Kudos and leave a comment!


	7. The Things We Hold Dearly—ish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s a little late than I intended to post this chapter, but nonetheless here you go! Happy readings!

" _Daddy!_ "

Maison's voice screeches on-screen as her puffy face consumes the whole camera lens. Misha couldn't help but grin, heart tugging as Maison and West fought over the cameral shot while their mom, and Misha's wife, Vicki, sighs delightfully in the background, face half-covered by the two little kids.

"As you can see, I'm quite busy at the moment," Vicki informs Misha with a huge smile as she grabs the two squabbling kids and forces them to sit still against her chest. "Maison. West. If you don't stop squabbling over the camera, then Daddy won't get to talk to you guys because he's due for his flight soon. Now, behave, children."

Misha has an ear-splitting grin on his face as he watches his wife and kids in complete adoration. "I wish I was there with you guys. _God_ , I miss you all _so_ much!"

"Then come home," West whines, a pouty look on his face as he widens his eyes. "You still have to build me a tree house. You promised!"

"West, your father is extremely busy but he'll do it in due time, _okay_ , baby?" Vicki takes the reign before Misha does, planting a soft wet kiss on her son's forehead deliberately, hiding her mischievous smirk at her own actions afterwards. West dramatically wipes his forehead in mock disgust, whining even further. "Oh, stop being _so_ dramatic. Someday kisses will be all you'll be thinking about. _Trust me_."

West scrunches up his nose in disgust, tilting his small head to look up at his mother. " _Ew! Mom!_ Girls have cooties! I don't want their germs to touch me!"

Misha's heartfelt laughter echoes throughout his apartment in Vancouver. His suitcase stands ready right beside him. His flight departs in a couple of hours and he knows traffic will start compiling heavily in the next hour or so and he doesn’t really want to miss his flight again. If he wanted to make it in time for his plane, he had to leave soon.

"Ah, _shoot_ ," Misha sighs heavily, reading the time off of his watch. He turns back to his computer screen, and smiles one last time, an apology ready at hand but his wife beats him to it.

" _Hey_ , we love you," Vicki smiles softly, snuggling the two kids to her chest. "Have fun at the convention and don't worry about us. We'll be fine. Now get your ass—"

The high-pitched gasp and giggles erupts from the two childish kids. Vicki rolls her eyes, offering a silent apology for her use of language.

" _Booty_ , I meant booty. Get your booty up and moving before you miss your flight."

Misha bids his farewell, offering a thousand imaginary kisses to the screen and a hundred 'I love you's to his family before he _finally_ signs off, shutting his computer screen completely. He stands up to stretch, yawning as he did so until he felt a vibration in his pocket and proceeds to pull out his phone, slight confusion written all over his face when he read the caller ID.

" _Jared?_ "

"Morning, _Mishakins!_ Get your ass downstairs. Clif is driving us to the airport," Misha could hear Jared's grin, and virtually cringed at the use of Jared's awful nickname for him. _Since when did that name become a thing?_ " _Oh_ and do hurry up. Jackles is being fussy and can't sit still. He didn't get his daily _apple juice_."

The line clicks and Misha is hit with that same bitter and dreadful feeling. It's been a week since the events at Jensen's trailer had played out. Since he last kissed Jensen. _Or Jensen kissed me._ Days on set from that day onwards was nothing short of awkward and bitter. But, as usual, Jensen played his best cards and avoided Misha as best as he possibly could. Which turned out to be a success, actually, because the call sheet for the entire week only required at least one angry scene between them. Misha pulled it off in one take, surprising Bob and the other directors with his ability to turn into a furious angel in a second who managed to deliver his lines to their liking for once. Of course, Misha knew the reason why he was able to channel _such_ anger towards one scene. He didn't think Jensen was expecting such an atrocious line coming from his mouth with such intensity because Misha could see how Jensen cowered slightly under his gaze after that, which admittedly, made Misha self-satisfied at the accomplishment he made.

He was dreading going downstairs, but he sucked it up and did it anyway. He made sure to lock his apartment before he left, taking the elevator down where a black Chevy Suburban SUV was waiting, headlights running through the semi-foggy morning. He couldn't see who was inside due to the black-tinted windows but figured that Jared was probably sitting in the back while Jensen was god-knows-where. 

" _Mishakins!_ " Jared happily greeted the man as he slid into the seat beside him, slamming the door before they take off silently down the road. 

"Greetings to you too, Moose and Clif," Misha rolls his eyes afterward, a familiar scent of spice and cologne drifting into his nose from the front-passenger seat. He could make out the outline of Jensen's tense figure against the seat, head focused forward and mouth awfully silent. "And Jensen."

Despite how much he wanted to be angry at Jensen, he couldn't find himself to do it without raising the concern of others. He might as well act as if everything was okay and then be mad in his own private confinements. He just hoped Jensen does the same. Misha backtracked in his mind, reeling back his previous statement. _Hold on. Why do I care what he does? He's a grown man capable of making stupid choices. I don't give one cent what he does._

" _Mish_ , good morning," Jensen replies almost instantly, a laugh emitting from his mouth as he spoke his next statement in an amused tone. "Jared hadn't taken his pills this morning so his verbal references to Riverdale is quite extensive and frankly, quite annoying."

Misha plays along, although he could see right through Jensen. Even when their eyes meet for a brief second in the rear view mirror, it was enough to bring up all that tension back from a few night ago. Jensen still cowers under his gaze. Was Misha's performance the other day really traumatizing that Jensen couldn't hold a decent 10-second glance at him?

"Well, what else is new?" Misha expects the shoulder punch and he grins in response and stuck his tongue out at Jared who appears to smirk before ruffling Misha's hair against the poor man's will. 

They arrive and board the airplane without too much of a hassle. They didn't meet many fans at the airport which made their transition so much easier. Now, it was the matter of sitting next to Jensen for a whole 6 hours and some change. Jared refuses to change seats when Misha asked him, claiming he needed to catch up with Clif on a couple of sports-related subjects, much to Misha's bitter disappointment.

So here was Misha, an hour into the flight and they were steadily gaining altitude in the air, sitting right next to Jensen in awkward silence. The first-class cabin was dimly-lit and all in all silent with the occasional murmur from someone once or twice. Jensen claims the armrest between the two of them, which didn't matter to Misha because he had an even better deal: the window-seat. 

Misha's eyes watches Jensen as he shifts uncomfortably in his seat, chest heaving heavier than usual. He runs a hand through his hair, the other hand gripping the armrest tight until his knuckles were white. His face was forming beads of sweat and Misha sighs inwardly, reaching out to remove Jensen's hand from the poor armrest and instead clutches it in his own grip. He knows Jensen wasn't a big fan of flying, despite how frequent the cast flew back and forth to Vancouver and some other location. When Jensen would have these anxiety attacks, Misha was always there to comfort him. To hold his hand and whisper soothing sentences into his ears while his thumb stroked Jensen's skin, bringing him back down from his paranoia stages. Whatever divide was between them, Misha wouldn't let it interfere with comforting his friend. He shoves his feelings away, only focusing now on his panicked friend, his thumb stroking circles onto Jensen's skin.

"You're okay, Jen," Misha soothes the anxious man who grips Misha's hand in response. "I'm right here. Follow my voice, and breathe in and out slowly. You're _okay_."

Jensen does as he's instructed, breathing slowly in and out before his grip on Misha loosens. Misha starts to remove his own hand, clapping himself on a job well done, when Jensen completely grips it back, intertwining their fingers instead. Misha's eyes widen and narrow afterwards at Jensen, a heavy glare set on his face.

"What the _hell_ , Jensen?" Misha whispers harshly, wide eyes darting everywhere to make sure no one saw their hands. Jensen doesn't say anything for a while, laying their entwined hands in his lap as he leans his head back and closes his eyes.

" _Shh_ , I'm trying to sleep here," was Jensen's reply, all calm and care-free.

Misha tugs on his hand once more but that only made Jensen tighten his grip. Misha could see a small hint of a smile form on Jensen's resting face as he chuckles under his breath at Misha's failed attempt to retrieve his hand.

"You _cocky bastard._ Let my hand go and I'll let you sleep in peace,” Misha takes a deep breath, hissing his next words in full frustration, “ _Jensen Ross Ackles._ "

His eyes cracks open, face tilting to address Misha's fuming glare. His smirk only made Misha more determined to retrieve his poor hand. Who was Jensen to act all touchy and feely with Misha when they were alone? When the man couldn't even stand a second glance in public? Why was Jensen being so intimate all of a sudden? 

" _Dmitri._ "

Just one stormy look from Jensen was enough to shut Misha up. The way the green of his eyes darken down a shade, pupils dilating, recalls Misha's past feelings, a heavy lump in his throat as he felt his throat dry up. Jensen couldn't look more like a sex god. The way Misha's original name rolls off his tongue made Misha weak in the knees, and his whole body to ache with newfound want. Jensen's smirk says it all. He knew the effect of his name and he was using it to his advantage.

"I think your hand is a little cut off from circulation," Jensen proceeds to say with a satisfied hum, finally releasing Misha's hand as he leans his head back, eyes shut close once more. "I'll see you in a couple hours, _Mishakins._ "

Misha returns to face forward in his seat, cradling his cold hands who ached for Jensen's warmth again. Thanks to Jensen, he was now uncomfortably aroused. And it didn't help that the cause of his arousal was the man sleeping right next to him. _That damn man. And to think he was actually having a panic attack. Sneaky bastard._

The corners of Misha's mouth curves downwards as he looks out the window. _If Jensen thinks some act of affection is going to make me forget what happened in his trailer some nights ago, he's wrong._ Jensen was using his charming looks and flirtations skills to gain himself a spot on Misha's good list, but that wasn't going to happen. Although Misha swore he would live a life filled with no regrets, he couldn't help but think that maybe he'd make an exception just for Jensen, breaking his promise just as Jensen broke his heart.

Misha leans his head against the window, clutching his hand as he watches the clouds go by, lulling himself close to sleep. 

" _Screw you_ , Ackles," Misha mumbles under his breath sleepily but with just as much bitterness and force. _You're just going to have to try harder for my forgiveness._


	8. It’s All Fun And Games...Or Is It?

" _Misha_."

 _Don't do it, Misha. Don't raise your voice. Stay silent_.

"Mish."

_That's it. Clench your jaw. Zip your lips._

"Collins."

_Mmm. Don't give in to his games again. You're strong. You've played God. If God had patience for his kids, then I'm sure you can pass this is in a breeze._

" _Daddy_."

 _That fucker_.

Of course Jensen would know exactly what to say to get Misha to break. That is, say something inappropriate that you wouldn't say on a regular basis. Hence, Jensen uttering something so explicit as _'daddy_ '. Not to mention the fact that the word slipped off of Jensen's tongue like a plague. A plague that enveloped Misha in a whirlwind of hot heat and deep blushes. He had to admit, even the pet name coming out of Jensen's mouth was hot as _fuck_.

" _What_ do you _want_?" Misha grits his teeth, cheeks slightly flushed as a reaction to Jensen's comment and the slight frustration the man held. He turns his head around to shoot Jensen with a glare he'd hoped would send him the message that he wanted to be left alone.

Jensen, with mischievously twinkling eyes and a wide cocky grin, didn't seem too fazed by Misha's glare. "I'm _bored_."

Misha grumbles in response, gesturing to the black digital screen in front of Jensen with his arm. "There's your entertainment. _There_ ," Misha smiles at him sarcastically. "Problem solved."

Jensen throws his head back and _whines_ softly. Yes, Jensen _whined_. Of all of Jensen's traits Misha was aware of, whining was not one of them. _He sounds like an adorable puppy begging for attention. It's adorable and I would've cooed if I wasn't so goddamn frustrated_.

"But I don't _want_ to!"

Misha releases a bitter smile in addition to an exaggerated roll of his eyes, returning his posture to face the front, head leaning back with his eyes closed as he tried to catch up on sleep. Misha had only slept for a good whole hour before he was woken up by a strange heat emitting down his neck. It was Jensen's face shoved into the crook of his skin with a knowing smirk meant to tantalize the man when he woke up. If that didn't make it worse, Jensen even had the audacity to plant a simple kiss to the sensitive skin under Misha's jaw before pulling away abruptly when Misha jumped in his seat from surprise. Needless to say, the wall right next to Misha's head had _not_ been kind in giving him a lighter concussion.

"Not _my_ problem."

It was silent for a few minutes and Misha was finally convinced that he'd be able to _finally_ catch up on some sleep after all. It would be great to put a rest on these thoughts for a while. However, Jensen begs to differ.

A warm hand plants itself on Misha's upper thighs, not being entirely too friendly about it either. _No_ , the hand was dangerously close to Misha's crotch with teasing fingers digging into his inner thighs. Misha sucks in a breath quickly, which was a big mistake, because in the next second, Misha is coughing up empty belts of air harshly, trying to subdue the heavy redness in his cheeks as he doubles over slightly, hand covering his mouth.

" _Jesus_ —" another cough, "Christ!" Misha lets out a series of little mini-coughs as he regains his breathing after a couple of minutes, eyes slightly wide and colored cheeks puffed. Jensen's wheezing laugh meets his ears the next second and Misha snaps his head to the side, a glare ready to bat.

Jensen is doubling over in his seat, silent wheezing laughs coming out of his mouth. His crinkled eyes are shut tight and a hand was clutching his stomach while the other grips the armrest for stability, his cheeks red from the hardness of his laughter. Jensen leans to the side of his chair, seemingly lost control of himself and practically hangs halfway out into the aisle. He draws a couple of head turns their way but none that lasts for too long.

"I'm _so_ glad my choking made you hysterical," Misha bites harshly, voice low and sharp. "You're even worse than Jared. And _that's_ saying something."

Misha strings a few isolated coughs before he huffs, leaning back in his seat again, arms crossed and a stare glued to watch the beautiful skies outside his window, giving Jensen the silent treatment. He hears Jensen quiet down after a few passing moments and a few silent seconds after that, he hears a light _click_ as the armrest is lifted up and the shuffling of clothes on soft cushion seats sounds. Misha is almost tempted to peer over and take a look at what was going on, but he bites down the inside of his cheek to refrain himself from giving in.

Oh, but Jensen wasn't entirely done, as Misha finds out when a warm body strays close to his sides, slightly wet lips grazing his ear and a ridiculously hot hand places itself back to his inner thighs, seemingly closer than ever to his crotch. Misha freezes and inhales a sharp gasp when Jensen's hand brush against his crotch area with a simple graze. He doesn’t have the nerves to move and snap at Jensen, feeling his body temperature hike up to the point where Misha was breathing more heavily than he needs to.

" _Mmm_. You have _no_ idea how hard it is for me to refrain myself from _myself_ ," Jensen hums lowly, voice husky and gruff. "And _that's saying something_."

Misha sucks in a breath, cheeks flushing as hot breath blows into his ear, the smell of mint floating into his nostrils. His thighs seem to grow a shade hotter under Jensen's teasing grip and he could've sworn that Jensen shuffled his body closer to his.

 _What in the world was happening?_ Jensen had gotten to a whole new level of intimacy in their relationship. Not to mention the mixed signals he sent Misha's way. What was Misha supposed to think now? With Jensen's grip on his thigh, his knuckles lightly brushing the fabric of his crotch, the hot breath blowing slow and soft into his ear, the feeling of Jensen's chest against his shoulder, rising and falling heavily like Misha was, he was nowhere close to the right state of mind to think straight.

"Jensen...I'm not interested in playing one of your," Misha shifts his legs, but Jensen grips it and holds him steady in response, "... _games._ "

His deep chuckle sends Misha straight to heaven as a gush of hot air blows into the skin surrounding his ear. A rush of heat flows quickly down his body to settle into somewhere down south where Misha least wanted it to land. He swallows his saliva, or what was left of it, to compensate for his dry mouth.

" _Trust me_ ," Jensen places his lips on the back of Misha's neck, taking advantage of Misha's head turned to his window. Misha could feel the edges of Jensen's lip quirk up into a combination between a smile and a smirk. "I'm not fucking with you, Mish. At least, _not_ in the sense you're referring to."

 _What the hell did he just say?_ Misha's mind was a reel of emotions and thoughts swirling around in his head like bees without any sense of organization. Did he hear Jensen right? Was this another game? Misha highly doubt it. Jensen wouldn't lie, he knew that for sure. If it's any trait Jensen highly respected in someone, it was the honesty he hopes to see just as he is purely honest with anyone he meets.

Misha felt the gears in his head shifting, causing him to turn his head slowly to meet Jensen's gaze. To make sure that Jensen was telling the truth. Some consolation to tell him that this was actually happening. Jensen removes his face from Misha's skin, lingering his face just centimeters away from Misha's jaw as he turns his head fully to face Jensen.

Smoking green eyes meet a pair of searching blue ones looking down at him from above. Jensen moves his face higher to level with Misha's, lips slightly parted as he breathes out faster breaths of air. They were _ridiculously_ close to one another, almost to the point where the tips of their noses almost brushed. They were swallowed into a Dean and Castiel moment, silent with a side of heavy eye-fucking and constantly flickering their gazes quickly to one another's lips, neither of them initiating the first step to lock a kiss which deeply deepens the sexual tension between the two figures.

Instinctively, Misha flicks out his tongue to lap up his dry lips, loving how the stormy look in his friend's eyes darkens a whole shade. Misha's breath trembles as he takes the torch to start off the game, drawing closer to Jensen's face, breath growing quicker and quicker. His eyes flutters close, nose brushing Jensen's, and realizes that Jensen wasn't pulling away from him. _This is real. This is actually happening_.

Misha tilts his head when he feels the graze of his lips on Jensen's, ready to seal the deal. Jensen's breath hitches at the last second and Misha goes in to close the ga—

" _Attention, passengers and flight attendants_."

Both of them spring backwards from each other as the intercom ahead crackles loudly to life. The two men stare at one another with wide, fearful eyes, lips parted as the voice above informs them of their early arrival to their destination, ordering everyone to fasten their seatbelts in the next couple of minutes. Jensen doesn't break his stare with Misha, and Misha doesn't break his. The stormy eyes, dilated pupils, and flushed cheeks tells Misha all he needs to know.

_This isn't a game anymore. It's real. So what the fuck do I do?_


	9. Stubbed Toes And Mixed Signals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, the wait was so long and I apologize! Writer’s block is hard, but here you go! 
> 
> All mistakes are my own. Criticisms are highly welcomed! Happy readings, all!

The first thing Misha does when they reach their hotel was dart straight to his room, toss his bags aside and jump straight into the shower. Standing there under the hot streams of water, he douses his hair with his favorite strawberry-vanilla scented shampoo that he might or might not have stolen from Vicki's stash of soaps at their house. So he was a sucker for non-masculine scents, no one would find out and expose him anyway. They were much better than the strong Axe scent he despised so much.  
  
By the time Misha got out of the shower he had wrinkles on his fingers. But it was definitely worth it. He needed that shower to get his minds off of things. Ever since that almost-mistake they made on the plane Misha had been the one to avoid the other this time around. He could still feel Jensen's stare digging into the back of his skull, the sides of his head and his back. Tossing a towel over his head, Misha rubs his glistening, wet hair dry before he wraps his towel around his waist and proceeds to walk out of the bathroom.   
  
As Misha pulls his black _FREEDOM_ shirt over his head, he couldn’t stop his brain from wandering back onto the topic of Jensen. He was a damn good actor. Jensen Fucking Ackles. His stupid, adorable freckles and his stupid grin. His fucking macho male libido and his controversial beliefs. _Damn him!_   
  
Misha tugs his jeans on a little rougher than he intends to which caused him to trip over his pants, hissing and cursing in pain as he stumbles forward and stubs his toes on the bed frame. Misha bit his lips hard, eyes cast upward to the ceiling as he withheld a muffled whine, body still as a statue as his mind quickly floats to other topics to avoid confronting the numbing pain in his toes.  
  
He thought of Vicki and the kids. Particularly a memory of one of the times they spent the whole afternoon at the park near their house in Los Angeles. He recalls the loving sound of Maison’s infectious giggle as she toyed with the sand in the sandbox and West’s adorable mumble when he was communicating with the flowers on the ground and the sweet name his wife used when she wanted his attention. Soft, affectionate and loving. He recalls the way his wife would grin giddily at him when he came over, anxious to point her fingers and phone towards their kids, urging him to interact so she could capture the moment and store the memory forever in her camera roll. He remembered watching her with a grin for the camera as he held his two kids in his arms, observing the way the wind made a strand of her brown hair fall into her face, or the way the tree branches would shake along with the rhythm of the warm wind, releasing endless flurries of bright petals to fall to the ground and enclose them in their embrace.   
  
With a long, calm release of breath, Misha smiles sadly to himself, hit with a brick of emotions, as his heart starts to ache just at the fond memory from the previous year. He misses his family so damn much sometimes that he went as far as considering quitting his job just to spend time with his family before his kids were too old to hang out with him ever again. But before he even lifts a finger to initiate an email of resignation to Robert Singer, he would convince himself that he needed the job. _The money_. The secured knowledge that his children would get a comfortable education in their future. He needed to think ahead, and he found himself locking his phone screen off as his last decision, swallowing the selfish ache in his chest and promising himself a better, brighter future for him and his family. Even if that future entails little appearances from himself.

Misha runs a brush through his hair, combing it into perfection for the onlookers. Despite the struggles of keeping close to his family, he loves his job. It gave him the opportunity to further his fight for the right cause, to open people’s eyes so they could fight for the right future. The only downside to his job? Well, if the answer wasn’t obvious from the beginning, he and Jensen wouldn’t have played cat-and-mouse with their feelings since day one.

That’s the thing about Jensen. He's the polar opposite to the character he plays on _Supernatural_. Whereas Dean Winchester was goofy and childish, Jensen was serious and mature. Only around Misha was he able to break that character. When Jensen was around him, the whole persona of a teenage girl comes out; the full-on ear-splitting grin, the unicorn laugh, the giggles, the loving gazes, the dirty subtle talk, the jokes. Everything that composed Jensen before he met Misha was thrown out the window. Gone, forever.

The endless teasing and flirting and intimate touches drove Misha crazy. He felt a tempted attraction to the man, and at points would feel as if Jensen felt the same way, but that feeling would dissipate when Jensen would ignore him completely for the rest of the day. Maybe, if he was lucky, it would go on for weeks. Jensen was the exact imitation of hot and cold. One second he would be all over Misha, flirting and touching him endlessly, and the next Jensen would give him the cold shoulder, brushing off Misha’s flirtatious suggestions with a brash and direct response. So if Jensen thinks that he was just some dummy bag to punch around when he needs to, Misha’s about to prove him wrong.

He was sick and tired of the games. But yet, Jensen seemed so sincere when he said he wasn’t fooling around, which only made Misha more frustrated and tense than he intended to be. He _wants_ him. But he isn’t sure anymore that it’s exactly what he _needs_. He needs to think about his family. And that made it so damn hard when it concerns Jensen. 

Misha groans loud and clear, frustration and confusion mixed together. _This weekend is going to suck ass_.


	10. Let’s Have A Fact-Chat

“I don’t like tea.”

It was a straight-up horrible lie which doesn’t go unnoticed by a confused looking Jared and a knowing Jensen. Jared gave Misha a look of doubt and slight confusion as he lifts a cup of hot tea from the carton of hot beverages Jensen oh so generously bought for the entire cast that are here for the convention.

“Uh, you love tea,” Jared imposes, handing Misha the cup of hot liquid. “What’s up with you, Mish?”

“I’m sorry.”

The blurted words caught Misha’s attention and his eyes drift over to glance into guilty green ones. He lifts an eyebrow at Jensen’s confession, not sure he was hearing right. Was this Jensen apologizing? For which one? The tea or their faltering relationship?

“Don’t be sorry, man,” Jared intervenes, clearly not privy to the subtext going on here. “Seriously, very thoughtful of you to get everyone coffee and tea. People should be  _ thanking  _ you,” Jared shoots a clear, disapproving glance towards Misha, “I’ll see you guys later. My autograph session starts in 30 minutes and Chuck knows how my hair is going to look like without a shower.”

With a clap to the back to Jensen and Misha, the tall moose of a man leaves left  to the left of the silent hallway and disappeared disappears around a bend, leaving Jensen and Misha alone to stand in front of the closed doors of the green room. Misha was the first to break the silence, clutching his tea in his right hand.

“I suppose I should thank you for the tea,” Misha  started starts with a stoic expression on his face, bitterness lacing his voice. “But if this is your attempt at apologies an apology, buying me tea is not going to cut it.”

Misha turns turned to leave, a bored expression on his face.  _ Jensen wants to play his games, fine. But I’m not going to give him the reaction he wants.  _ Before Misha shoots could walk out of out of contact range, Jensen whips whipped  out his hand and grips gripped his arm, urging him to stop walking.

“Mish.”

Misha doesn’t didn't turn around to address him. He knows knew if he set one look into Jensen’s persuasive emerald eyes that he was immediately a goner. It’s that effect that Jensen has on him that makes Misha so goddamn vulnerable to his mind games. Misha sucked in a sharp breath at the contact, waiting for Jensen to talk.

“Can...can we talk?”

Misha breathes breathed out a sharp breath, scoffing. “Fine. Then, talk. I’m waiting.”

The grip on his arm disappears disappeared and the shuffling of shoes against carpet sounds. Jensen’s voice comes out low and guilty. “Not here. Somewhere more private. My room...or yours.”

Misha sighed, gave up a sigh, rubbing his face wearily. Here was another decision that could alter his life. Should he go or not? Does he go or not go? Talk or avoid talking? This was Jensen he was about to talk to. It wasn't ’s not something that  happened happens occasionally, in fact, it rarely ever did. does. Jensen wasn’t known for his direct confrontation to things. He was more prone to the art of avoidance. But if Misha was to decline his offer, then the opportunity to talk about…  _ everything  _ vanished vanishes. Their relationship would  will be on the rocks, if not decline for the worse, and coming to work would only be a burden. Their acting might not collide and the chemistry that made  makes the show work would will falter. Weighing his choices, Misha decides to take a chance to fix everything.

“Alright, Jen. Let’s talk in my room. I left my jacket in there anyways.”

 

_________

He’s been staring at Jensen for the past five minutes, waiting for him to start. Jensen was seated on the couch, eyes cast towards the table in direct concentration. Misha had his jacket by his arms, which were crossed over his chest as he waits by the door, growing bored and impatient every passing second. He purposefully released releases a loud exaggerated sigh, feet shuffling as he readies readied  to go out the door.

“I really don’t have time for this, Jen—“

“I don't know how to fix it. I...I thought I had it down, but I don’t.”

Misha stopped stops dead in his tracks, eyes narrowed in on Jensen’s hunched figure, shoulders sagging and hands dangling loosely from his lap. Misha leans leaned against the wall, feet crossed over one another as he  braced himself braces for the start of Jensen’s ‘talk’.

“Fix what, Jensen?”

Jensen  glanced glances up and  turned turns his head to look at him. Misha wasn’t close enough to decipher the exact emotions playing on Jensen’s face, but his voice told  tells him all he needed needs to know.

“I told you some things that I shouldn’t have told you in the first place and it caused a drift in our friendship. And I-I messed up terribly, I know. I tease and joke with you more aggressively than I used to and for awhile, it stayed as a joke. And then it didn’t. And that night at my trailer…”

Jensen stood stands up, voice stumbling and lost and desperate. He took  takes a few strides in Misha’s direction until they were only a couple feet away from one another. Misha stands up straight, back pressing against the wall as his eyes loosens its bitterness as he took takes in Jensen’s vulnerable state. This was Jensen opening up. And it was a beautiful sight to see. Rare and delicate.

Jensen took takes a breath, eyes desperately searching Misha’s blue ones. “It changed everything. And kissing you was probably the best damn mistake I’ve ever made in my life. And I don’t fucking regret it.”

“Jensen,” Misha informed him informs warily, voice full of caution and nerves although it was weak. “Think about what you’re saying. I know you. You do regret it. You say you don’t, but you’re…you’re…”

Dammit. He was at a lost for words. He couldn’t find a viable reason why Jensen would regret it so he settles for an obvious guilt-turner. 

“You have a loving wife and three adorable kids,” Misha pointed points out weakly, trying for a sore point that would make ’ll make Jensen feel more guilty than he should be. “Don’t toss that away because of some words.”

Jensen nodded nods along to what he was saying slowly, guilt written right where Misha wanted it to be. The small painful glint that surpassed surpasses Jensen’s gaze as he glanced glances at Misha was there for a second before it disappeared disappears. And damn it, it  took takes Misha all of his willpower to say screw it right there and then. But he couldn't can’t. He needs to think of his family, their future, not just himself.  _ And Jensen should too.  _ He smiled  smiles warily after a few moments of silence and took takes a step back, hands clasped in the front.

“You’re right,” Jensen cleared clears his throat, eyes filled with pain and rejection and... _ realization _ . Misha avoided avoids them, knowing he was the ultimate cause for them, and instead paid , pays close attention to his shoes. “You’re probably right. I have my whole life planned out and a supportive, loving family right beside me. Thanks for keeping me in check, Mish.”

He paused pauses, voice strained and Misha’s heart broke just a little at the sound. “You’re a great friend.”

“Jensen, I—“

“I should go. Clif is probably wondering where I am and I wouldn’t want to keep him waiting.”

The sound of the door slamming shut startles him, Jensen rushing out the door with his head ducked down and the rim of his eyes turning red and watery. But Misha did nothing. He didn’t run out to comfort Jensen. Didn’t console him and tell him that  _ they  _ could give  _ this _ a chance. Misha let Jensen run out of his room, vulnerable, dejected, and disappointed. And telling himself that this was all for the best over and over in his head seems much more like a lie every single time. Misha sank down to the floor, breath uneven and shaky. His heart was palpitating against his chest in unbroken rhythms, feeling too heavy to sit in his ribs. 

He takes in ragged gasps of breath, eyes shut close. Jensen was there, open and vulnerable and desperate for acceptance and Misha pushed him away, shut him down with some facts. He sank his head in his hands, concluding that either way, their relationship was already gone.  _ It was never going to be the same.  _ And this time,  _ Misha  _ was to blame.


	11. Recovering Old Issues

**Three Days Later….**

**[Back On Set]**

“CUT!”

Jensen slumps against the wooden chair sitting in the scene of the bunker, toying with the neck of his beer bottle filled with soda disguised as beer. He eyes the label with mild interest, although his ears are hearing Phil’s voice telling Jared to stop messing with Misha with the broom handle. 

Jensen sighs audibly loud and shifts in his seat, not in the mood to get into any daily bickering with the director. Usually, he would join Jared and support his wild reasonings for torturing Misha, but today marks the beginning of a different atmosphere. The days at the convention couldn’t have been tense and awkward enough. Jensen’s mood have been dull and flat and he wasn’t so happy as he used to be. There were no more silly bantering or playful jokes, only small smiles and brief chats. Jensen no longer spent his nights on set, sleeping in his trailer hoping Misha would knock on his door again. He went straight to his temporary apartment he rented in Vancouver. This was what Misha wanted. A stable, entirely platonic friendship. Although he had no idea how they could remain stable after everything that they went through.

“Ahem. Earth to Ackles.”

Jensen blinks. He must’ve dozed off in his brain that he didn’t realize someone was calling for him. He picks his head up to Jared, apologetic.

“What? Sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

“Phil asked you if—“

“If everything is okay. You look out of it today,” Phil interrupts with a concerned gaze eyeing Jensen up and down. 

On instinct, his eyes fleets to Misha’s cobalt blue ones standing a few feet away from Jared with his hands tucked into his tan trench coat. He clears his throat, bringing his eyes back to the table as he straightens up in his seat before meeting the director’s eyes. He smiles assuringly.

“Oh, yeah, yeah. I was Skyping with Dani late last night about um,” he pauses briefly, hoping they would get the hint. “...personal things. I’m just really tired.”

Immediately after that, Phil shifts uncomfortably on his feet and Jared only grins wickedly in return. Nonetheless, no one else questions him about his well-being and everyone proceeds to hit their marks for the day. 

He couldn’t lie. Skyping with his wife late last night helped relieve him, in more ways than one, which was a much needed break that they both desperately needed. What Misha said a couple days ago hit him close to his heart. Maybe he  _ was _ being selfish after all. He needs to think about his family right now, not some possible one-night romance that would ruin their careers in a heartbeat. Maybe they were just better at staying friends, nothing more.

Some time after midnight were they let go from set. Or rather, Jensen was since he was due on a different set earlier in the day. He trudges his shoes across the road to his truck sitting by his trailer, blind with exhaustion and sleepiness. But he wasn’t fully blind enough not to acknowledge a lone figure leaning against his truck, face illuminated by the light from his phone screen.

The one person he least wanted to socialize with was leaning against his vehicle without a care in the world. There must really be a sixth sense somewhere in the man because Misha must’ve sensed his presence a few feet away and looks up from his screen with an awkward smile.

“Hey.”

Jensen found mobility in his body and he moves forward with slight hesitation in his steps. He dangles his keys on his right fingers when he stops a good distance before Misha, who was standing up straight and off of his truck.

“What...what are you doing here?” Jensen found himself saying cautiously.

Misha’s smile falters a tiny bit and he tries to mask it off by looking down to the ground before he pulls himself up and shoves his hands in his dark blue jeans.  _ Which,  _ Jensen added subconsciously,  _ made his legs look damn illegal. _

“I was going to ask you if you could drive me back to my apartments since my car’s in the shop, but, um, it’s okay if you don’t want to. I can just ask Mark or call an Uber.”

“Who says I don’t?”

His words surprises him more than it does Misha. Misha raises both his eyebrows and Jensen dangles his keys in his hands as he proceeds to walk to his side of the truck, hoping Misha had some intellect in him to follow his silent orders. 

Jensen waits a moment, strapped in and engine roaring silently to life, before Misha slides in the passenger seat, buckling himself in and taking a chance to ogle at the new modernized truck as he slams his door closed. He sighs heavily as he sinks himself into the comfortable cushion of his seat, hands limp on his lap and his eyes shut close as he lays his head back against the headrest.

Jensen couldn’t help but ogle him from the side. Misha, clad in dark blue tight jeans with no air left to his legs accompanied by a simple black AC/DC shirt and a dark purple flannel button-down shirt, looked like temptation ready to strike Jensen dead. Misha’s throat were exposed to the world, making Jensen gulp down any inappropriate tendencies and urges he might have had. He forces himself to look away and focus on driving, eyes set on glaring at the road as he pulls out of their workplace.

It was a comfortable silence, in Jensen’s opinion. He acts as if Misha wasn’t there at all, which helped to soothe his mind a little. He knows the way to Misha’s apartment like the back of his hand, having to drive him home a couple times to fetch his shirt, or laptop, or even his tea mugs over the course of their work relationship. And of course, Jensen was willing to oblige each time the man asks because who wouldn’t?

Not that he minds now —well, maybe a little— but he wouldn’t reject him away. Speaking of rejection, Jensen’s knuckles turn white as his grip on the steering wheel tightens. His mind recalls the memory of Misha’s rejection to him a couple days ago, quick and brutal. He flayed himself open to his co-star, and Misha shot him down just as hard. Of course, he was still bitter. He was embarrassed and hurt and angry. He tried not to think about it too much but sometime during the day, his mind will fleet towards the humiliation no matter what Jensen tries to do to stop it.

“Jensen? You’re gripping the wheel really tight. Are you…”

Misha trails off his words, pinching them shut. Asking him if he was okay was kind of redundant seeing as how they both knew the answer to that question. Misha sighs softly under his breath, barely audible in the truck.

“I’m  _ really _ sorry, Jen. You know if I...if I could, I— woah, hey, what are you doing?  _ Jensen _ !”

Screeching to a halt by the side of the road, Jensen parks his truck to a stop and leaves the engines running as he unbuckles his seatbelt and pushes himself over the control and onto Misha’s lap, straddling the man into his seat. Misha’s frantic look of surprise and panic greets Jensen’s stoic ones, void of any emotions. 

“Jensen, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Misha questions with panicked eyes, squirming under the heavy man on top of him in an attempt to get out of the cage he’s trapped in. But to no avail, Jensen sits securely on top of him, close and closer. Misha continues with a grunt of his body. “Jensen, stop. You’re going to cause traffic and—“

Misha’s words were muffled against Jensen’s lips and he gasps in surprise. To which Jensen took advantage of and snuck his tongue inside, his hands gripping the sides of the headrest for support. 

It was heaven. Tasting Misha again on his tongue sent a familiar feeling down his body and he wanted more. He couldn’t get enough of him. The last time he did this was when he wasn’t entirely sober and truthfully, he couldn’t recall the explicit details of their kiss except that he wanted to do it again. 

The moment Misha kisses back gave Jensen whatever he needs to continue. He presses his body to Misha’s in a slow grind, debating silently if he was drunk off of sleep deprivation or Misha’s presence. The deep moan that erupts from Misha’s mouth broke their kiss in half, slight pants dropping soon after as Misha’s hands found themselves gripping Jensen’s hips tightly, guiding them down again.

“Jensen,” Misha pants hotly as he drops his head down, forcing Jensen’s lips to land in his hair as Misha’s eyes undoubtedly assesses their growing hard-on. “ _ fuck _ .”

Jensen snakes his lips down the sides of Misha’s head, kissing and biting skin along the way. Misha tilts his head in return, throwing his head back harshly when Jensen does a deep grind that sent the both of them moaning for more. Jensen’s lips latches on to his neck, suckling softly as he drives his hands into Misha’s hair. Jensen was lost. He was already gone. He only intended to kiss Misha, and maybe tease him just a little, but that first moan from his co-star’s mouth sent him spiraling out-of-control. 

“Jensen, J-Jensen,” Misha breathes deeply, fingers digging into Jensen’s shirt and flesh. “Don’t start something you can’t…. _ fuck,  _ finish.”

Jensen’s hands moves down hastily towards Misha’s flannel, already on its way of pushing them off. His mouth left wet, sloppy kisses down his collarbone and under his neck, voice out of breath and lustful.

“Then let’s finish it. We’ve got all morning.”

“No, Jensen,” Misha struggles this time, squirming under Jensen’s weight. “We can’t. We can’t and you know it.”

“Why not?” Jensen presses again, kissing his way up Misha’s jaw. “No one is here to stop us. No one needs to know, Mish.”

Misha sucks in a breath and his grip on Jensen’s hip tightens to push Jensen off of him. “Jensen, dammit. Get the fuck off!”

Jensen was keen on pushing harder, maybe bypassing Misha’s doubts by kissing him again but what stops him is the sudden crying from the man below him. Jensen freezes in his spot, pushing himself away from him immediately as he sat straddling Misha’s knees, scared that he might’ve gone too far and hurt him. Misha rubs his face immediately, angry sniffles covering the only sound in the truck. 

“Mish, I—“

“Don't you fucking get it? We  _ can’t.  _ I have a fucking family,” Misha snaps angrily up at him, tears streaming down his face. Misha makes an attempt to wipe his face but the tears kept coming down. “Whatever the fuck this is, it doesn’t exist! This is just some fantasy, okay? In real life, you have a family to support and I have kids that need me there. We can’t be  _ this! _ ”

Misha gestures to the space between them in rapid angry motion, tears starting to cease slowly as his frustration overcomes his body. 

“What part of that did you not get? I made it clear that you— _ we  _ need to focus on our own families. I can’t keep doing this if you can’t respect my wishes, Jensen. So tell me, Jensen!”

Misha was shouting now and it might’ve hurt Jensen’s eardrums but he didn’t think to complain as he listens silently still. 

“Tell me if you can’t act like you’ve been my friend all those years ago! Because if you can’t, I don’t think I can work with you anymore. So, please, Jensen, be honest with me and tell me the fucking truth. Can you respect my damn wishes just this once?”

Misha is breathing heavily, chest heaving up and down as his angry eyes await Jensen’s green eyes for their answer. Jensen says nothing for the next several moments before he quickly scrambles off of Misha and drops down onto his side of the truck, head thrown down in shame and guilt. 

“Yes,” Jensen hears himself whispering. It’s the least he can do for making Misha burst out crying in anger. Maybe it’s for the best too. Maybe his family deserves to be the forefront of every rational decision he makes. Jensen swallows down the break threatening to come as he nods. 

“I’m sorry, Mish. For everything.”

Misha says nothing in return and the whole ride to his apartment felt short and awkward. No attempt at conversation was made the whole time and Jensen was relieved when he finally pulls into the parking lot of Misha’s apartment complex.

Misha’s hand lingers on the door handle and he turns to Jensen with a strained smile that Jensen couldn’t help but fake in return. His faded bloodshot eyes only made Jensen feel even more guilty.

“Thank you, Jensen…” Misha trails off with a pause before he nods appreciatively. “For everything.”

Misha turns the handle and pushes out, halfway out the truck when Jensen remembers that he needed to give Misha something of his back.  _ Before he’s gone for good. _

“Misha, wait.” 

Misha turns his head to look back over his shoulders quizzically at Jensen, pausing in his wake. Jensen reaches over, sucking his breath at the close proximity. He opens his glove compartment, stacks of letters bunching out accompanied with a couple lone CD stacks and a pair of Misha’s missing neon orange briefs.

He grabs it and hands them to a surprised-looking Misha who grabs it absentmindedly like Jensen’s fingers were magic.

“These are my orange boxers that went missing for a while…” Misha marvels over his lucky piece of fabric. “How...How did you find it?”

Jensen offers him a shrug and a small smile that isn’t entirely directed to anything. “A PA handed them to me and thought I was you. I guess I keep on forgetting to give them back to its rightful owner. Until now.”

“My boxers were in your arms….all along,” Misha mumbles with a sad smile to himself, looking as if he was on the verge of breaking again. “Thanks, Jensen. This meant... a lot.”

Jensen only manages a nod in return and watches as Misha slams his door shut and disappears with his boxers in hand up the stairs. Watches as his temptations and heart disappear away from him forever.

Meanwhile, as Misha enters his apartment, he slowly slid down his door upon shutting it close, holding the piece of lucky fabric towards his chest, where his heart was. Jensen had it all along. His lucky charm. In Jensen’s arms. And now it was gone. Jensen was gone. His heart was gone. Misha closes his eyes and slams his head back into the door, bearing the pain in his head.

Jensen is his lucky charm. And Misha lost him. He lost his damn heart. And somehow, Jensen was everything all at once. The bad and the good. The pain and the pleasure. And he let him slip through his fingers to fall into oblivion, never to be recovered once more.

Misha swallows down a shaky breath, fingernails digging into his palm, almost enough to draw blood. 

“It’s for the best,” he tells himself.  _ Tries  _ to convince himself that it’s the right thing to do.

But is losing everything truly, wholly, the best? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so technically, this is supposed to be the last chapter of this book, but I had some other plans for continuing this. Preferably a sequel? I don’t know if you guys would be up for that.
> 
> Anyways, drop a comment below if you guys want me to continue this :) If not, then this is the last chapter of the book.


	12. A Sneak Peek At The Sequel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes, you’ve heard right! There is a sequel on the works! Now, it’s going to be in a totally new book, a sequel of sorts if you wish, and I’ve decided to give you guys a sneak peek at the first chapter of it! It’s nothing much so don’t get your hopes up! Nonetheless, enjoy!

**JULY**

**[Two Days Before Filming]**

 

The sound of birds chirping and the fragrance of something sweet and aromatic stirs him awake from his slumber and into the waking world. The distant sound of pots and pans clashing in the kitchen fills the silent ambiance of the large house and reminded him that he’s home. _Home. In Austin. Beautiful, sunny Austin._

Dark eyelashes blink open slowly, the corners of his plump dry lips pulls up into a small smile as his heart warms deeply at the sentiment. Vibrant emerald eyes poke out from underneath his lashes repeatedly as he blinks to get his eyes to adjust to the rapid rays of warm sunlight coming in through the open bay window, signaling the signs of early morning sun. He rubs his eyes before sitting up in bed, a soft elated sigh dropping from his lips as he hears the shrill of children’s joyous screams and giggles coming from downstairs.

Jensen was home. Out of all the nine months he’d had to work away from home and his family, he adores the last month of work on set more than he did the other eight. It meant he got to go home and reunite with his family once more after. Of course, there were breaks in between filming, but those days are far too short to count as reuniting. Besides, Jensen was usually tired and Danneel was often busy with the kids and her work, and they didn’t have enough time to spend with one another and catch up on what he’s been missing out on. They would just slink back to bed in the middle of the night after taking care of the crying babies, exhausted and worn out and they’d let the sleep ride them out, no social contact made at all. And then Jensen would have to leave the next morning, and he would kiss Danneel goodbye while she was still asleep and tuck his snoring kids and plant them a goodbye peck before he left for the airport. Back to continue filming again.

So, yes, Jensen was absolutely happy when the season ended and he got to go back home to his wife and kids and rekindle with all the lost memories he was never in and hoping that he could make new ones. These past months has allowed him to do just that. He felt relieved, loved, and was hit with a towering wave of sickness upon realizing that in just a couple of hours he’d have to leave for the airport again. For a whole nine months he’d be away from his family. And back into the drama he’s been escaping.

Jensen shakes his head away as he brushes his face with his hand and releases a loud, carefree yawn, stretching his arms afterwards. For right now, he shouldn’t focus on the dreaded feeling of leaving in a couple of hours. He should focus on the now and right now, his wife is downstairs cooking something extremely mouth-watering in that sexy bathrobe of hers with her beautiful morning hair and covered in Jensen’s scent from last night. The kids should be downstairs, probably playing with their food and babbling a secret language to one another that only children their age could decipher. For right now, he’s home and he’s not going to give two cents about leaving yet. He’s here to focus on his family, not his work. That comes later...

**_[TO BE CONTINUED]_ **

**Author's Note:**

> This came earlier than expected but the sequel is up!!! Click, click, click away! It’s called Crash And Burn and will pick up months after their promise was made! So once you’re finished with this book, hop onto the next work in this series! :)


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